He stuck a stick,

Nature made two

And gave him more to do,

Which was a funny trick.

 

Then later, three,

Four—all plush and green—

Up to a hundred and seventeen.

He offered one to me.

 

That first at last is lost

And my old friend is dead.

I go on in his stead

At simple, splendid cost.

 

His gardens give me food;

Houseplants, company;

The forest, mystery,

Foliage, and wood.

 

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