MY WIFE THE GARDENER

She dug the plot on Monday,

the soil was rich and fine.

She forgot to thaw out dinner

so we went out to dine.

She planted roses Tuesday.

She says they are a must.

They really are quite lovely,

but she forgot to dust.

On Wednesday it was daisies,

they opened with the sun.

All whites and pinks and yellows,

but the laundry wasn't done!

The poppies came on Thursday,

a bright and cheery red.

I guess she really was engrossed;

she never made the bed.

It was dahlias on Friday

in colors she adores.

It never bothered her at all,

those crumbs upon the floors.

I hired a maid on Saturday;

my week was now complete.

My wife can garden all she wants;

the house will still be neat.

It's nearly lunchtime Sunday

and I can't find the maid.

Oh no! I don't believe it!

She's out there with a spade.

from the New Zealand Rose Annual, 1995