A doggerel verse on gardening:

Her wild garden grew, viridescent in hue,
Cowboy hat worn proudly, a song she sang loudly,
Underneath clear sapphire skies, as the bees hummed contentedly—
Weeds were abundant; the morning glories' stranglehold,
Sought to pull her plants down.

Long lasting days, a golden summer haze,
Garden-gloves worn and thin, dirt under her skin,
Sun beams coruscating down, the earth's crusts packed hard—
Thirsty plants weakened, vines holding ever-fast,
She weeded and pulled to no avail.

Evening light dim, cool mist drifts in,
Denim jacket worn and faded, unruly hair quickly braided, 
Crickets' shrill chirring heard, as the distant river roars—
Sunset's blush quickly fading, tired back straightened,
Empty wheelbarrow she filled again.

A day now ended, moonrise splendid,
Dusty boots worn and battered, her hopes now shattered,
The stars lambent overhead, her garden was a miscellany—
When all was said and done:
Bit of everything, and a great deal of none,
The mosquitoes drove her inside.

the end?

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