Under the wincing tree.

Under the Wincing Tree..

Of all the work that doesn't fit anywhere, this is the work that doesn't belong in the garden.

A distant king named Croesus
Had a garden of golden Narcissus.
Asked to render in rhyme
And reflect on the time
"Such poems", he said "are beneath us!"
11.01.03

When you say 'preserve'
I'm bound to wince
Unless discussing jam
Or the fruit of the quince.
03.06.05

Agapanthus are blue
And they bloom in the summer
But they're borderline hardy
It's a bit of a bummer!
30.10.05

It seems to me that there is what happens at the time, and then there is the anticiptaion of afterwards.
22.02.06