Category: Gardening

The garden’s under tons of ice;
The lawn rests under snow;
The pests, like mice, and bugs and lice
Sleep–so does the hoe.

My wife, though, sees (still I will pardon her)
That resting doesn’t reach the gardener.

by Ray Romine Thursday, August 17, 1950

The tulip’s warm flirtatious blaze
Is fashioned to attract my praise;

The pansy begs, behind her hand,
“I’m for you, you understand.”

The iris, in her velvet gown
Lives, sure I’ll never turn her down.

The peony, for all she’s worth,
Is striving to improve her girth.

The annuals are at sharp dissension,
Competing hard for my attention.

Then, last, as sure as autumn comes,
Appear my over-coated ‘mums.

They’re true to me from spring to fall;
But–fickle me–I love them all!

by Ray Romine Monday, January 15, 1945

God made the trees, but one perceives
It’s up to me to rake the leaves.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, October 18, 1950

I read in last year’s garden log;
I riffle my seed catalog;
I claw with avid interest through
Better Homes & Gardens, too;
Then down the basement stairs I go
To clean the long-neglected hoe,
To oil the spade, inspect the rake,
And give the Glad bulbs one more shake,
And guess, by hefting, like a miser,
How many pounds of fertilizer.
For though it snows like anything,
The calendar declares it’s spring.

by Ray Romine Sunday, March 25, 1951

I find my gardening enthusiasm
Survived that early seed-ordering spasm
Beautifully, but now it’s fading
That the time is here for spading.
Consequently, I am knowing
There won’t be ANY left for hoeing!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 27, 1946

All winter long I prayed, 0 Lord,
I dodged would be by local board;
But I the draft no longer fear–
We’re gardening, Victory style, this year.

We soil’ve spaded, raked it fine
And sown the seed of plant and vine;
So wet ’twill be that swim things will,
Or dry, and tease the water-bill.

We’ll chase the bugs next door to Gus,
Who’ll later shoo ’em back to us.
We’ll pull up plant and leave the weed–
Then gently help it go to seed.

Our hands’ll blister, spines will crack;
There’ll be protestations from our back,
And remonstrations by our knees,–
We’ll fight the fight in spite of these.

Carry on for old Nutrition!
‘Tis the height of all ambition.
Mid-July may see us able
To lay a radish on the table.

So, take me, army, while I can
Still pass, perhaps, for half a man;
If march I must, to drum and fife,
Please take me NOW, and save a life.

‘Fore body folds and mind goes slurshy,
You’d better hurry, General Hershey!

by Ray Romine Thursday, April 8, 1943

If there are groceries at the bottom
It’s just because the bugs forgot ’em.

(Picked up from piece of old discard
written about 5-21-1950)

by Ray Romine Wednesday, June 14, 1950

The seeds we planted in the spring
Came up, grew just so high, and– bing!
That’s because they don’t need mowing;
The lawn, I note, continues growing.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 5, 1950

Here lies, beneath those waist-high weeds,
The outcome of my spring-sown seeds;
And, buried after one brief spasm,
Lies also my enthusiasm.

by Ray Romine Sunday, May 21, 1950

My wife likes to grow ’em,
So long as I hoe ’em.

by Ray Romine Sunday, June 20, 1943