Old Ms. Beth lives down the lane
She rarely goes outside.
(Something with her legs, I think?)
I made her apple pie.
I walked it over to her
and noticed something queer:
Her garden’s full and tidy
Though I’ve seen no one here.
I ask about her roses.
If mine could bloom like that!
She says her gardener does it.
(We take some time to chat.)
I look for months to see them,
the one with such green skill,
But no one ever shows,
Much less one who’d fit the bill.
I carefully watch the yard,
Find no weeds or disarray.
Her plants must be magic
to behave so well this way!
I’m not far off, I find
One night taking out the trash.
She’s standing in the flowers.
I hear words, see a flash!
Sparks float across the stems
Trailing greenness in their wake.
I race back to my kitchen.
(My hands just slightly shake.)
No gardener ever worked there;
She got her garden free!
If only I can sway
Old Ms. Beth to mentor me…