Ms. Butterfinger Trippytoes - Mistress of the Gardens

I wish,

I wish,

I wish,

no rain would fall on my garden ground

until all the grass was mown down

and

weeds heaped in a dreadfully high mound 

and

every plant was pronounced fit and sound

and

.

.

.

Phooey!

Shuck-ems!

Pfft!

Kaput!

.

.

.

Silly me

.

.

.

by then all that could be seen

of my once-upon-a-time leafy green

would be a Sahara desert scene

cause I'm stuck on impossible dreams

a master of disaster in jeans

WHAT!

.

.

.

well sell me down the river,

stab me in the back,

bite my dagnabbit hand

.

.

.

the thesaurus is bluntly unkind

to us mismanagers of our fingers

entering into that cute little search box

the

word

klutz

.

.

.

and

I

am 

a

moronic

imbecilic

nincompoopie

ignoramus

of

a 

loser

whose

a

yokel

numskull 

hayseed

half-wit

simpleton

.

.

.

I'm going to pretend

I don't know how

this collection

of

concrete disaster

showed up

in

my

driveway

Kitty loves me

and

that's good enough.

Charlotte

Thomas

Casey

Austin

Jamie