I'm at the Green Phone Booth today, putting the garden to bed - "Night Before Christmas" Style.
T'was the season before winter, and on the homestead
Jack-o-lanterns were rotting, the zucchini was dead.
The sheet mulch was tucked round the pear tree with care,
In hopes that next year's pumpkin patch would be there.
The hens all nestled all snug in their coop,
Dreaming of laying eggs and not becoming chicken soup.
And I in my boots and dirt covered pants
Pulled out the last of the tomato plants.
When back in the yard, there arose such a clatter,
That I sprang from the raised beds to see what was the matter.