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‘Her indoors’ requires a garden
before my arteries all harden.
She’s given me a fork and spade.
It’s time, I’m told, a start was made.
Big flowerbeds are her main requirement
before my live-till date’s expirement,

and terraced patios with lots
of space for plants in hand-thrown pots.
She also wants a great big pool, it
seems, before I come to cool it;
plus, before I've upped and died,
a fancy fountain on the side.

It isn’t much to ask, I’m told,
before my blood runs slow and cold,
although to me it sounds like frigging
years of bloody tiring digging.
Gardens are hard rows to hoe -
and hers particularly so.