In our garden

In our garden

there is a raggedy old man.

I don’t know how he got there,

although I have seen him around;

he looks like he’s had a hard life,

plenty of trouble, plenty of strife;

and he’s sitting on our garden bench.


I want to ask him to leave,

go away,

never come back;

but, it’s troubling to see

that that old man is probably me.

7 responses to “In our garden

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