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He'll be back for more

One never thinks the day will come,

When labour ends and work is done,

But watch the clock or watch it not,

Time marches on - it never stops.

The garden beckons, shed lock oiled,

Trowel in hand, knees to the soil,

There's trees to prune and seeds to sow,

And soon a colour border show.

A greenhouse full of climbing vines,

Tomatoes bloom, sweet juices rise,

Fresh produce hangs in tempting clusters,

Pick the lettuce, where's the mustard?

Bees are busy, robins thrive,

Spade to earth, dig deep and wide,

Potatoes like a decent depth,

While carrots veer off to the left.

Wind chimes warn of weather change,

The sun goes in it starts to rain,

'Tis but a shower and will soon pass,

There'll still be time to cut the grass.

Yes, work is done, but strange thing that,

He’s working still, near broke jis back,

But in the garden ‘tis no chore,

Come daylight - he'll be back for more.

© Joseph G Dawson