Deficiencies

Glowing in my garden to bring me great content
Are jewels evanescent whose beauty soon is spent
But dahlia, gladioli come when cherry blossom’s done,
And California poppy all golden in the sun.
And the garden’s walls are forest trees,
Its background is a mountain,
And it has a hundred moods in sun and fog;
But I haven’t got a crazy path, I haven’t got a fountain,
And I haven’t got a funny iron frog.

Singing in my garden all the summer long
Come the happy choristers with many a merry song.
Blackbird comes, red robin comes, with his sober hen,
Honeyeater, grey thrush and pert blue wren.
And there the regal magpie sounds his fearless clarion;
All bush birds are free to come and go.
But I haven’t got a caged bird to feed on seed or carrion,
Or budgerigars a-roosting in a row.

Bordering my garden are many lawns indeed,
Gay enough and green enough, yet holding many a weed.
But duck-weed or dandelion bring me no despair,
Nor yet the scarlet pimpernel peeping coyly there.
Too well I know to challenge them would make of me a mockery;
And so I let them grow and wish them luck.
But I haven’t got a rustic bridge, a sundial or a rockery,
For silly little succulents to suck.

Lacking in my garden is many a modern touch;
But in my fatuous content I do not mind that much.
For high up in the laurel tree clings clematis a-bloom,
And vines and clambering roses climb together in the broom.
With uninvited daisy stars the level lawns are spangled,
And blooms lift glowing faces to the sky
Where, fraternising fearlessly, green bushes grow entangled;
Yet all seem satisfied, and so am I.