I am neither cryptic nor a firestone,
not even immune from hurt.
I deem myself functional
from a dearth of sources.
Gardening being instinctive.
Enduring Agnes my first love
with her then fringed suede ideals,
temporarily blamed herself,
believing  I could never be
the sum of her dreams.
Men are not clotheshorses
they don't need to kick clod.
Some would rather grew
Nicotiana Sylvestris and
the Sunflower "Moonwalker"
in their Midshires allotments
with Agnes's tending
their "Love lies bleeding".