T'was the weekend before Christmas, and all through the yard,
Not a gift was being given, not even a card.
The tools were all hung, in the garage with care,
With hopes that St. Nicholas soon would repair.
The shovel with blade all rusty and cracked,
The pitchfork still shiny, but handle it lacked.
When out on my lawn, (it's brown and abused)
I could see poor old Santa, looking confused.
No list had been left for Santa to see,
No gardening gifts were under the tree.
But wait there's still time, it's not Christmas yet,
And gardening gifts are the quickest to get.
You can forget the silk tie, the fluffy new sweater,
Give something to make the garden grow better.
If she wants a gift shiny, then don't be a fool,
It's not a dumb diamond, but a sparkling new tool.
If fragrance is listed you can forget French perfume,
t's a pile of manure that'll make gardeners swoon.
Give night crawlers, not nightgowns, a hose that sprays water.
(Anything for the kitchen is not worth the bother.)
Give a great gift that can dig in the dirt,
It's better than any designer-brand shirt.
Now look quick at Santa, this guy's not so dumb,
Under his glove, he hides a green thumb.
His knees are so dirty, his back how it aches,
His boots stomp on slugs, (he gives them no breaks).
The guy works only winter, you can surely see why,
For the rest of the year it's as easy as pie.
He has elves plant through spring, pull weeds in the summer,
In fall they all harvest, but winter's a bummer
And so Christmas gives Santa a part-time employment,
'Till spring when the blooms are his real enjoyment.
So ask the big guy for garden gifts this year,
Seeds, plants and tools, Santa holds them all dear.
You see, malls may be crowded, vendors hawking their wares,
But visit a nursery, stress-free shopping is there.
Now Santa's flown off, to the nursery he goes,
And his voice fills the night with loud Hoe! Hoe! Hoe!
Many thanks to old rose guru (that's old roses not old guru) Leon Ginenthal of Ithaca for the Chrismas Poem! He's our "go to" guy in the rose world.