The Banker

On our lawn I stand Admiring three Islands Perennials returned Your harsh words they've outgrown How would your garden grow? Again you scoffed at Sheer joy I earn with carve and trim Life to lawn once dying wins. I know that feel inside As you rock with breeze Rocking chairs have held you Have heard, "We don't need those." There you go again Denying flowers before I die Your pie waits in the sky? Keep banking sans expiration date. *