John Carter Brown

My Dad (The Gardener) - Poem by John Carter Brown

My Dad has got green fingers,
He's always been that way;
He grew veg' in his younger days,
He grows them now he's grey.

Tomatoes are his forte,
No finer can be found;
He eats them by the dozen,
And sells them by the pound.

He grows a vast amount, and now
Two greenhouses he owns;
Tomato juice is in his blood,
And marrow in his bones.

His spuds are so delicious,
Their praises I must sing;
So fresh and full of flavour,
And fit for any king.

His lettuce too, are lovely,
They're crispy and dark green;
Much better than the shop ones,
The best I've ever seen.

There's not much that can beat him,
He's skillful in his craft;
He isn't Percy Thrower
But he isn't flippin' daft.

The only thing I've ever known
My Dad to fail to grow,
Is melons, for my sisters,
Just a tiny one did show;

The whole procedure was for him
A problem just too great;
So now they're off the menu,
And for melon they must wait.

But still, it's just one failure,
And not like all the rest;
My Dad is still the greatest,
My Dad is still the best.

My Dad has got green fingers,
And this will always be;
Now mine are going green as well,
And that will do for me.

(Written Oct 1994)

Poet's Notes about The Poem

Another true family tale.

Comments about My Dad (The Gardener) by John Carter Brown

  • (10/24/2013 2:41:00 PM)

    Gardening dads and mums are treasures. My mum used to stop in front of someone's house and say 'What gorgeous delphiniums! '. I cringed - and now i do the same! It's good to remember them in poems. (Report) Reply

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  • (10/10/2012 1:37:00 PM)

    Good poem, tells a story. Down to 'earth' stuff...liked it. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, August 28, 2012

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