Nellys guide to gardening
Trowel in hand, ready to start
her mission was simple, not to fart.
So poised with her buttocks aloft,
a questionable noise and a lethal waft.
She had bent down further than advised,
but now it could not be disguised,
unable now to control her wind,
her sphincter had somewhat thinned.
It’s not everyone’s cup of tea,
to spend the day down on your knee.
Though the fresh air and quiet hush,
Is lovely, whilst trimming your bush
But not to be put off she tried again,
this time with less haste, no methane.
She undoubtedly would be disgraced,
neighbours minds can never be erased.
I think the garden is not for our Nelly,
polluting the world and making it smelly.
Owing to her ailing ringpiece,
her problems will only increase.
Helen George copyright 2020