I do not have a garden
And my thumb is far from green.
The plants I’ve managed not to kill
Are few and far between.
But when I’m at my country house,
Where things grow out of whack,
I take my trusty clippers
And I cut the darn things back.
Unwanted weeds and bushes
Get their branches quickly snipped,
Unprepared for the attack by that
With which I am equipped.
The next time I am here, I’ll have to
Do it all again,
But at least I made a little dent
Until I don’t know when.
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