My Garden – by Mr Herbert Thompson*
My Garden is like a poem
Only full of flowers not words
Instead of rhyme there’s parsley and thyme
And instead of scansion there’s birds.
Instead of metre, there’s something neater
i.e. rows of pretty things.
Instead of vowels there are spades and trowels
And the sound of the lawn edger sings.
My garden has a compost heap
And herbaceous borders as well.
And where a poem has a thought
My garden has a smell.
My poems are rather like a garden
Only minus the flowers and birds.
And minus the trees and minus the bees
And instead of plants – there’s words.
* Terry Jones or Eric Idle, probably.