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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2066769
Rather cruel or rather silly, three pen portraits
Mr. Noah Washington, calls a spade, a bleedin' spade.
Unless he's somehow lost it, or it is otherwise, mislaid.
And then it's “Where's that dratted thing, I had it half a mo.
But where on earth I've put it down, I'm blessed if I know.”
Then he'll sit and read his paper, and smoke a pipe or two.
Gardening is such very hard work, there's an awful lot to do.

Percy Potts loves planting peas, he puts them in a row.
And every pea that Percy plants, is very sure to grow.

Percy Potts loves the straight and narrow,
This is the rule, when he plants a marrow.
Slightly curved just will not pass,
His marrows are of a different class.

Percy Potts uses parsnips, to make a treasured wine,
Most think it disgusting, but he thinks it's divine.

Miss Amy Herrington-Fythe was both genteel and down at heel.
Growing organic veg, gave her a pleasure, she could frankly not conceal.
No chemicals for her, as ripe, fresh manure truly was her thing.
And given half a chance, its praises she would highly sing.
She'll trot along the bridle paths with her bucket and a shovel.
Ready to scoop it up, and take it home at the double.

© Copyright 2015 Robin - I'm a Blackstar (rl_gallear at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2066769