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”
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