I hadn’t done anything major to my garden for quite a while, but now I could see that the lumpy, weedy thing I jokingly called a back lawn really needed some serious restoration work. It seemed to take my garden by surprise.
Hi! I am Gordon’s Garden.
So far, this year’s been good.
I know in past years, I’ve complained*,
But I hope you understood.
It’s a give-and-take relationship:
I give, he takes away
The lovely food I grow him
And moans about my clay.
But this year has been different
Up to now. He’s shown goodwill
And not gone on at me at all.
I wonder if he’s ill?
Oh no, he’s not! Look, here he comes
To renovate my lawn . . .
He’s strimming off my lovely grass . . .
And now my lawn is gawn.
To injury, add insult.
Seems I’m not good enough:
He’s covered me with sandy loam
And fertiliser stuff.
He’s raking it and levelling it,
And now he’s scattered seeds:
‘Hard-Wearing Lawn’, the box declares –
He can’t have liked my weeds . . .
I’ll soon be Gordon’s Garden
With a head of bright green hair.
I feel that I’ve been slighted.
I’m hurt, but I don’t care.
At least his mind’s diverted
From going on at me;
I bet it doesn’t last, though –
It never does, you see.