Garden Of Dirt Poem by Wiley Wildcard

Is sweet the scent of honeysuckle
With its colors of white, red, and yellow,
But many I've past seen buckle
A garden it is not for to mellow

Although the sun rise for morning-glory
Still it will grasp and tangle,
And its vines compromise a new story
Must leave my garden no plant to strangle.

Beauty and romance hides in a rose,
But the thorns are sharp this is true
These are facts everyone knows
No rose in my garden out with you.

I leave the rocks, the sand, and a worm
The weeds volunteer and grow up to here
It's my garden indeed and it always is firm
Best part of it is it'll last all year.