"Oh rhubarb, you have grown so tall
And I have not done much at all.
Your leaves are green and widely spread.
Your juicy stalks are thick and red.
A generous harvest, first of Spring,
And yet - I haven't done a thing.
"I should have wet the ground and hoed
The weeds and mulched the dirt that showed.
So now those weeds are growing high
And all around you looks so dry.
"It weighs on me, my base neglect
(But I'll still eat you, I expect,
With custard or perhaps some cream,
Poured over in a luscious stream)."
Thus I mused, ashamed and sad,
And then, a sudden thought I had.
I gave a shout, I struck my head.
The tools were right there, in the shed.
I brought them out; I wet and hoed
And sorted out the debt I