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Wilbur’s gonna get me/you! ©

How the joys of horticulture can be spoiled by one tacky ornament

Danny Reynolds
Dalton in Furness, England

My dearest wife, has caused some strife,
For me myself and my daughter.
She’s bought this gnome called Wilbur,
who is made of terracotta.
He’s sitting by my new garden pond,
his feet dangling in the water.
(I wonder if he’s her revenge,
for the last cruddy gift that I bought her.)

He’s sort of like a flower-pot man,
but not cute, like Ben or Bill.
Each time I see his twisted grin,
I keep thinking, “if looks could kill”.
Last night I went indoors early,
to avoid his Chucky-like face,
Imagine my horror this morning,
when he was sitting in a different place.

I ran to my wife, accusingly.
She looked at me, like I was mad.
I said, “It’s your fault for buying it”.
She said, “Hold on. I thought you had?”
Now Wilbur’s under the compost heap,
let’s hope that’s the end of our sorrow.
I hope we get a good night’s sleep,
and hope he’s not back, tomorrow!

It’s been two weeks since I wrote this poem.
Ignore everything that I said.
Me and Wilbur are now the bestest of buddies,
though all of the neighbours are.....dead?

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