The hanging basket

Life must be so unpredictable for these things, especially during long hot summer days. But the media is full of advice on how to make the water we use go further . . .

I am a hanging basket
Who’s planted to the hilt.
I hope someone will water me,
Or else my flowers will wilt;

And then they’ll say it’s my fault
And throw me in the bin.
If I don’t get some water soon,
My chances do seem thin.

I think the lady of the house
Has heard dire news of drought
And hosepipe bans. So I suppose
That I must do without.

I hear her emptying her bath –
Such wasteful ways she’s got!
Those foamy gallons I could use
To irrigate my plot.

But wait! I hear her coming,
A bucket I can see . . .
A bucket full of frothy suds . . .
And coming towards me!

I’m now a hanging basket
Who’s lathered clean and pure.
And my flowers, now they’re watered,
Have a Radox-like allure.

[Image: www.gardenshedadvisor.co.uk]
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