The Weeds Of Love

Oh I sowed the weeds of love,

Though that was never my intent.

I thought that love would flower with my bloomers in her bower,

But it wilted, waned and went.

The gardener was hanging around,

So I asked him to choose for me,

The very truest petals to show my real mettle -

He picked pansy, pink and pea.

So I chose these three flowers,

But that only hardened her;

Though I sent him to her rooms with the very choicest blooms,

She chose the gardener.

Then she cut me to the quick,

With her cruel words, so hard;

She told me where to place my blossoms so ornate,

And I would not need a vase.

Soon to the church we went,

My faithless love and me,

At the alter we two met, then to the graveyard went,

And there she planted me.

And from my grave a briar

Crept out, and up, and round;

Formed a true granny knot, then began to rot,

Till the gardener cut it down.

Oh I growed the weeds of love,

I growed them in the fall,

Pollination was my plan, but I proved no husbandman,

And I reaped nought at all, at all, at all;

Oh I reapéd bugger all.

Copyright Chris Sugden 2003