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Poem: Gardening
By Bob Wilson


They look at the surface, they nod and they sigh
They wander around and look up at the sky
They kick it and scrape it to see if it's real
Another lap should sort it with that magic wheel

As soon as it's finished they are all out again
No sign of a spade or a shovel with them
This time they all head straight to the tapes
They are not in a vinery looking for grapes

The only tools they have is a toe and a heel
Chatting away in that strange speedway spiel
All the time digging, a point they must prove
Who can plant veggies in the best looking groove!

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