(We can't be good at everything, after all...
“The World’s Worst Gardener”. Yes, it’s justified.
That’s me alright. My Busy Lizzies died,
and they’re the easiest
thing to grow, I’m told.
I killed them; they weren’t even ten days old.
I pay a man to cut the lawn. It’s fine;
responsibility for plants is mine.
Yes, I can almost hear you groan.
“The World’s Worst Gardener” is how I’m known
among the neighbours, relatives and friends.
The list of my disasters never ends.
I used some ‘fertiliser’, from the shed,
except it was weed-killer. That rose bed,
like everything I touch, is now stone dead.
My husband is “The World’s Worst… ” (Number Two.)
Lay concrete everywhere
– that’s what he’d do!
But I, at least, attempt to grow some flowers,
and some of them have lived for several hours.
forget to water things in pots,
and in this kind of weather they need lots,
of course. I find that pansies are forgiving…
I’ve got ten tubs of them; they’re all still living!
They let me know they’re thirsty, ’cos they droop,
but then they bounce back up again. I whoop
with joy at this, so they’re a nice safe bet.
I’m optimistic that there’s some hope YET
that I could lose that “World’s Worst” epithet.