Hand Me a Crepe, Myrtle

As the garden grows… This one is For Sythia Rose may not agree She’s the one who seems to think That “Everything’s for me!” Their beauty is so petty Tulips speak with ease “Let’s hope this doesn’t Croc us” This late Spring eager freeze Yes, Daisy is so worried She knows she’s getting old How will she support herself “Not all can Mari gold” Lily is in Lavender Seen heading to the Station She worries the environment “We are still a Car nation” Though Sythia is fragile She’s grieving recent death Mums the word when she’s around She eyeing Baby’s Breath She’s dating that Sweet William And that’s why Rose is sore At last Spring’s garden party, Will and Rose had known L’Amour I guess they all have problems Just ask that Prickly Pear Won't even say Hi Biscus With his nose up in the air I wish they’d chill, relax and eat The ground has been so fertile Just then Azalea shouted out “Hey, hand me a Crepe, Myrtle”