My husband thinks he’s a gardener.
He spends hours out of doors in his patch.
He waters plants from his prized new water butt
With a vengeance no one can match.
His roses are covered with black spot.
His geraniums have been eaten by slugs.
There’s not one carrot left in his vegi. plot,
That hasn’t been got by the bugs.
He decided to build a water feature,
Which he dug with an effort so grand.
He filled it with the best fish he could find,
And planted lilies in great pots of sand.
One day a shout came up from the garden.
He’d fallen with a splash in his pond.
He climbed out with his pockets full of tadpoles
And his wellies were stuffed full of frond.
Now he’s given up thinking he’s a gardener
He no longer plants pots with his seeds.
But he lies round the house feeling sorry for himself,
And his garden’s now covered with weeds.