My Garden
There are creeping buttercups everywhere,
There’s clover on the lawn,
There’s couch grass round the roses,
And the shed looks so forlorn.

The geraniums need dead-heading,
The petunias flattened by rain,
There’s bindweed climbing up the fence,
The neighbours all complain.

The pond at least is flourishing,
The fish look fit and well,
But when I try to clean it out,
Ooh! What a terrible smell.

I wish I had a gardener
To do all these awful jobs,
But gardeners are expensive
They just work for the nobs.

It’s no good sitting wishing
Saying “Someone help me please,”
So come on, woman, out you go
And get down upon your knees.

My Garden