My garden's a mess
never at it's best
although things grow
they grow oh so slow.

I've mended the soil
and put in my toil
there are bees all around
and I've watered the ground.

I've rousted the insect
slugs, earwigs and miscreants
I planted in June
and prayed to the moon.

Morning glories abound
they twine all around
the squash and the shovel
that leans on my hovel.

I lounge in my chair
drink beer and stare
at the bees in their feats
Spearmint their treat.

Maybe next year, I dream
it will all be serene
right now no blue ribbon
I'd only be fibbin'.

The harvest no boast
but will raise a toast
to the bees and glories
in this garden story.