A Misunderstanding

“I plant a harried garden,”

of a morning I sure said;

and that quite pleasantly,

I thought in truth.

“Do not you mean a Harold garden?”

she then brightly said.

“Huh? Harold?”

in response I said.

Too awful loud, she posthaste said:

“No! Harrowed!

Harrowed!” said again.

“You're wrong,” I barked.

“I plant a harried! garden---

and the critters come and go ...

to cause me grief and woe.

They burrow, chew, and so harass

my damned friggin' garden!”

Uh-oh, I just had time to think,

so now I've caused a major stink.

“I've a mind to harass

you,” she fiercely said,

her eyes apoppin'

as she grabbed a handy broom;

“and what's more:

just right on out that damned

old friggin' door!”