We’re doing up the garden
Tho’ I found it fine before
A tiny patch just ten by four
Sitting right outside the door
Who could ask for more
The ideal place to snore
Or possibly to store
Things you don’t won’t any more
Even memories of yore
Able to cut you to the core
That denim jacket that I wore
Duly dying on the floor
My first real bike that bid me soar
The little shed that saw me score
All reduced to one sad chore
For
We’re doing up the garden