The Garden Game

Complacently self-awarding
we are, contemplating our
gardening achievements,
enriching the soil, planting
to our itchy-fingers' commands,
relishing the rich tapestry of
the garden mature in summer,
its fragrant landscape extolling
our labour, our faultless eye
for aesthetic consanguinity,
the textures we coaxed into flush,
the green architecture and
gorgeous floral displays lush
with nuance and colour, while
Nature suppresses her snorts
of derision, taking pity on our
lack of originality, our pathetic
pride, our insufferable penchant
for insouciant plagiarism.