The old gardener\'s here
And his wife the matron
It\'s high time I fear
Just look at the hawthorn...
...The hazel, the apple and also the quince
It has been more than a whole year since!
They\'re all standing silently to attention
They kindly wish to be trimmed
And so do the roses, not to mention
The lavender, rosemary, sage, they\'re all in!
He does that you know, the old sod
you never know when it\'s to be
He either keeps turning up or not
Gardeners aren\'t like you and me
It is rather stormy today of all days
The winter has not yet gone
I thought I saw spring somewhere in the haze
But I reckon I\'m being proved wrong
It might be quite long until we can breathe
I keep telling those snooty bulbs
They\'re not quite sure if they want to believe
What I say after all is just mulch
Well nevertheless, up the ladder goes
The old man, first is the quince
With a greying mustachio under his nose
And his wiry hair in the wind
Up there in the crown of the tree
he seems quite sturdy and leafy and small
You know as far as I can see
He\'s barely five feet tall
Waving magic with secateurs
He does look rather droll
Yes, he\'s certainly not an amateur
But sometimes I thinks he might be a troll