Barbara

She came into my life, as she leaped from the local train,
My life was changed forever, nothing e’er the same again!
Her golden hair a’ flying, her legs so slim and trim,
The laws of rail defying she was there, then gone again.

The weeks went by, I’d lost her – gone without a trace;
Then that magic moment – I met her face to face!
But knew she was, beyond my dreams until a twist of fate!

The rest is ancient history, I never had a chance,
She took me to her heart, and led a merry dance.
The years between have swiftly flown, with scarce a day, to call my own,
Her small demands have filled my life, my ever loving patient Wife!

(PS – I always jump, when she says the word!
She’s not a very patient bird!!!

A blooming good yarn!

Barbara had a ‘thumb’ pot, it’s surface glossy black,
She held it for a moment, then slowly put it back.
She also had a seedling, a spindly little thing,
A second glance, some bits of bark – and she quickly put it in!

A year has passed, a time of change, and tender loving care,
A gentle check, and soon it gets a larger pot for sure,
With all the latest potting mix and ‘slow release’ on top!
This plant is showing promise – I think it has the LOT!

It goes into the ‘growing’ house, and in Winter gets some heat,
It’s leaves are strong and glossy, the pot is fit to burst!
It’s roots en masse and tipped with green, with virus never cursed.

Then comes a day when checking, ‘I think I see a spike!’
But just to be quite certain, she’ll poke it ’round a bit,
And, Yes! for sure it’s forming, and it’s sure to be a Hit!
But now it’s lost it’s name tag, and a frantic search begins,
It’s now become an orphan, without generic name,
But soon a flower is forming, no other is the same.

The books come out, the search begins, the name it must be found!
Then a second flower unfolds, revealing all it’s glory,
It has a name – it’s perfect, but not the end of story.

Can it make the Autumn show? Will it ever grace the bench?.
The weeks will pass with special care, until it’s reached it’s prime,
Then to the show, a picture – it makes it right on time!

The judging is the final test and our Orphan reigns supreme!
The grower would retire you’d think, for certain –
IN YER DREAMS!

Orchid growers hell

He was old and he was weary, and had his fill of years,
He’d nurtured many million blooms, and shed some quiet tears!
And yet he still stood upright, an Orchid Lover proud;
As slowly he ascended, to a place above the clouds.

The Pearly Gates came into view, and one more step he took,
The man in charge of movements, was checking through his book;
‘We’ve a problem here!’ Saint Peter said, ‘You’re to see the man in Stores,
Just take the cloudbank to your left, and go down several floors!’

Our hero took the proffered route, and came upon a hall,
With wings and harps and nightshirts, stacked high against the walls;
Once more there was confusion, his was a special case,
So down the aisles and out the back, to yet another place.

And there in all it’s glory, an orchid grower’s dream!
Rows and rows of benches, and room to walk between!
A constant flow of filtered air, it’s temperature spot on!
Humidity control and auto shades – and a seat to sit upon!

Our hero’s eyes were moist, the blooms they swayed and gleamed,
But soon he came to realise, that all was not it seemed;
No orchid club was there to cater for his needs,
And orchid shows did not exist, nor were there any breeders!

The plants were always watered, and tended to perfection,
No repotting needed here, not a single damned exception!

These plants they never wilted or showed a sign of rot!
No virus ever reared it’s head, Red Spider ne’er existed,
The flowers were always perfect! and most were never listed!!!

It didn’t take a season to bore our hero stiff;
If only there were meetings, or outings to the growers,
A frost or some infection, to sull these perfect flowers!
So back to Peter’s helper, a query on his lips,
‘I’ve watched these plants forever, and checked on all their needs,
I cannot find a thing to do, not even bend a spike!,
I’ve decided now it’s not for me, there must be other places,
Of total devastation, where I can show my paces!’

The storeman chewed his pencil, and gave a little smile,
‘You can’t return the plants’ he said, ‘or move the pots around,
The whole design is perfect, and sits on Hallowed ground!
You cannot move to other climes, or leave this charming dell;
You’re here for all eternity – IN ORCHID GROWER’S HELL!!!!!’

A husband’s lament!

The sun is always wrong in the sky, too many clouds, or riding too high;
The PH is wrong, humidity low, the mix has gone mouldy, or just isn’t so.
There’s potting and spikes and back bulbs that grow,
Sprays, valves and filters that just will not flow;
Red Spider and spots, and the worst of the lot,
A VIRUS appears, so it’s the furnace for the pot!
All the tools have to be sterilised twice!
Between man and wife, there’s a great wall of ice!

The glasshouses always face the wrong way. (Life always used to be happy and gay!)
There’s shade cloth on rollers that goes up and down,
Windows and plastic – vents all around,
The shade cloth comes in various shades,
but my wife wants some that’s not even made!
The gum trees block light and she wants them cut down,
There’s never enough bench space, and the leaves are turning brown.

It’s SHOWTIME! and God! what trouble I’m in!
The house is full of blooms, the bedrooms and all –
the floor and the tables, and half down the hall,
No room to have breakfast – it’s the final grooming spot now,
that’s if I get fed! (If I’m living at home!)
This is the time to consider a roam!!

But then it’s all over and growing time’s here, a chance to live –
’till it’s this time next year!
But is this real living?? I just do not know!
It’s so long since life was normal!
And we only had kids, colds and measles! Floods, rain and snow!!

My darlin’

Come you here my darlin’, we’re both a’ growin’ old,
We’ve had a lot of fun, we’ve found a little gold!
Our hair has long turned silver, and mine is mighty thin!
But I’ll tell you one thing Sweetheart, I’m not yet for the bin!

My legs are always aching, your eyesight may be dim,
We take a long time mating, but it’s still as good as then!

Our running days are over, So Hell! who wants to chase?
Better the one you’ve always known, than some flimsy bit of lace!
There’s still some mileage in us, of that there’s little doubt;
But soon one day I’ll have to say – We’ll just sit this one out!!!