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I'm an enlightened despot in the garden--
no one has a vote, but I know what's good for them.
This gets chopped down, that gets fertilized.
Shovel and mattock, shears and trowel:
these are the tools of my dictatorship,
which I wield for the common good.
But when my back is turned, I can hear
all the perennials laughing.
Long after you're gone we'll still be here, they say;
pushing up, pushing up.
And waiting in anticipation
for the next despot.
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This one's a daisy!
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