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Waste Not - Want Not!
Waste Not - Want Not
Grandmama and children five
paraded slowly down the drive.
Each tightened fist contained a bunch
of flowers and a packed up lunch.
Grandmama said “Now be brave -
we’ll go to dear Papa’s poor grave.
We’ll plant some lovely flowers there
and offer up a little prayer.”
She told her tearful little flock
“We’ll plant his favourite - scented stock!
We must not weep or be down-hearted,
though ‘tis sad that we’re now parted.”
Poor Grandpapa was laid close by
the Chester race-course railings. Why?
“Well!” Grandmama was heard to say
“He lost his money there each day!
he might as well enjoy its aura,
though it made us all much poorer.
The hooves that thunder past his head
should keep him happy - live or dead.”
From Grandma’s bright reticule
came seeds and useful gardening tool.
The children cleared away the weeds
and neatly planted all the seeds.
Once home their life continued gaily.
Spring slowly turned to summer daily.
“Now dears - lets visit dear Papa
and see how all the flowers are.”
Grandmama bent low to sniff
the scented stock - but not a whiff.
No dainty blossoms cloaked the plot.
Aghast they gazed. They gazed at what
grew thick and lush in summer dress;
Grew parsley, lettuce, carrots, cress!
“Ooh!” cried Granny “Goodness me!”
And took it all back home for tea.
Which possibly explains the tale
Why Mother’s salads are so pale
Why lettuce, parsley, carrots, cress
Still seem to cause her much distress.
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