Something Always Pinches And Rubs Poem by Mark Heathcote

I've never found a perfect fitting-shoe
something always pinches and rubs,
always breaks and needs a bit of superglue
love is much like Goosegrass beneath the lilac shrubs.
I've never found an accompanying sock.
My socks are always strangely odd,
one toe breaking the skyline like a pink hollyhock.
I guess at times love, flits abroad, or is just a fraud.

We, gardeners, sow our seed in the hope?
That good-companion planting will be beneficial.
That all we've learned now sees loves heliotrope
following the sun ablaze less artificial.
Yet still, I'm to find a rose not prone to black-spot
fungal rot, a heart that isn't all a façade
whose roots are firm and deep, never rocked?
I guess at times love, flits abroad, or is just a fraud.