My garden

Eight line poem

I went out to my garden with my bucket and my pail.
I’ve been told I have a green thumb, and my plants they never fail.
Yet overnight my newly planted trees had died.
I sat amongst the twigs and leaves. And cried.

Dead! They were, dead as the proverbial door nail.
But as luck would have it, the garden nursery had a sale.
So off I went to replace the plants that had demised,
But before I did, I gave a prayer and had my soil baptised.





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