The morning dawned clear, it was frosty and cold
But the sun was ablaze in the sky…
I was off to my son’s with my wet weather gear,
In the hope that I’d stay warm and dry.
‘Cause I thought I’d continue from where I’d left off,
With the jet-washing, weeding and stuff,
Wasn’t long, I was cold, wet and muddy again,
Pretty soon I had had quite enough.
But I just could not face yet another wet day,
So I thought that I should persevere.
It couldn’t take that long to finish the job,
Pretty soon I would have it all clear.
The optimist hopes where the pessimist sighs
And the realist laughs in their wake,
So half a day later, I’m nowhere near done,
And I’m really beginning to ache.
I can’t feel my hands or my feet very much,
Just a tingle that borders on pain,
So I’m dreading the moment they start to warm up
And will go back to feeling again…
I think that my brain must have frozen as well,
‘Cause I can’t have been thinking quite straight
When I took a step backwards and met with thin air
And just knew… but by then it’s too late…
You see, there’s a stream that runs under the deck,
And a big hole cut out so you see
Where the water runs deep, and within it are rocks…
And on top of the rocks there was me.
Now this hole is about coffin-sized, I suppose,
And I’d told them, “You can’t put that there…
Someone’s bound to fall in…” but they said, “It looks good!
Health and safety from you? Well, that’s rare…”
I am winded and wetter and sat in this hole,
I’d gone down with a hell of a crack,
With one foot underneath and the other upstream
And a rock in the small of my back.
So I checked all the bits to make sure they still worked,
And proceded to haul myself out,
While the robins who’d followed me round all the day
Wondered what this new game was about.
By now the day’s over, the night’s drawing in
And the garden is starting to freeze;
I thought I’d been clever with wearing the boots,
But the stream had just filled them with ease…
There isn’t a dry bit of clothing at all,
But I thought to myself, what the heck…
Tomorrow I may not be moving at all…*
So I got on and finished the deck.
With teeth all a-chatter and frozen to death,
I survey with relief the job done.
And just at that moment, my pocket vibrates
With a message that’s come from my son.
Now this is the son in whose garden I work,
He for whom I now shiver and freeze…
And the irony is that he’s sent me a pic
Of him swimming in tropical seas…**
A garden they tell you is good for your health
I’m afraid that I must disagree…
His garden may be a delight for my son,
But it seems set on murdering me!
* It is now tomorrow and I was right…
**Absolutely true…perfect comic timing…