by Carol Rowe (who was my babysitter, pre-1957)
Here he comes! For heaven's sake
Hide the nozzle and stow the rake!
A daisy's growing? He will find it.
He'll fall in the tulips and never mind it.
He will check to see if the faucet's on,
To flush away the seeded lawn.
He'll gleefully chase the embittered cat,
Into the window box, and more than that,
Pull his tail until Puss scrambles,
Leaving the pansies a riotous shambles.
From the porch he'll heave the doormat down
Into the camellias, then winningly frown,
As he tries to fathom from my glare
If he should follow, or beware.
Pooh! to the tempest.
Bah! to the gale,
Compared to Pauli they're far too frail.
To turn my hair from black to white,
But he can do it overnight.
Yet when he's absent, our garden dies,
And we are learning, with shocked surprise:
To treasure a garden is purest folly,
When the sun lives next door-