Someone asked me to write this poem
​

Someone asked me to write this poem,
It's never happened before.
Someone asked me to write this poem,
It could be such a chore.
They said it's about Gardens,
Of which my knowledge is slight.
They said it's about Gardens,
I'm afraid it'll sound so trite.

Take your time they said to me,
It's planned for June next year.
Take you time they said to me,
I'm sure you'll do it dear.

So what do I think about gardens,
I'm sure they'd like to know.
So what do I think about gardens,
It's where my weeds do grow.

Can I wield the spade and fork,
I'm sure that I can not.
Can I wield the spade and fork,
I'm just sure I'd get too hot.
Perhaps I should just sit and watch,
The pleasant summer sun.
Perhaps I should just sit and watch,
My flowers all having fun.

​

Many people find great relief,
Waiting for the flowers.
Many people find great relief,
In welcoming springtime showers.
Myself I'm not so self assured,
My confidence is low.
Myself I'm not so self assured,
That I 'll reap what I did sow.

Something always goes amiss,
Between planting and the bloom.
Something always goes amiss,
In my backdoor garden room.

Though fingers green I'll never have,
I shall not be depressed.
Though fingers green I'll never have,
My garden is the best.

So as you walk though gardens fair,
Please enjoy the sights.
So as you walk through gardens fair,
Sample all delights.
And plant this thought free to grow,
Inside your fertile brain.
And plant this thought free to grow
Gardens keep you sane.
Keith Murphy©