In morning's gold and evening's glow,
The garden’s where my glad hands go—
To tend the green, to hum a tune,
And watch the sprouts reach for the moon.

The succulents in pots of clay,
Like sunny spots and hate the spray.
"Don’t drown me, please!" they seem to say,
"A drop or two will make my day!"

The ferns are fancy, lush and shy,
They thrive where shady breezes sigh.
"Keep me damp," their fronds will plead,
"A misty hug is all I need."

Cacti wear their spiky suits,
But deep inside, they’re mellow brutes.