This Sort of Thing...


The Vigorous Fig


How can you be, oh little fig tree

That you grow from a wall so much higher than me?

You grow with no soil and you grow with no water                             

From a vertical surface from which you ought to

Plummet and perish somewhere on the ground

But instead you’re alive in this niche that you’ve found


I’ve spent lots of time and a fair bit of dough

Planting shoots from big fig trees, though they never grow

I could be an oul’ cheat and get one from the shop

In its sunny location it would soon yield a crop

But it’s so satisfying to propagate life one’s self

Where is the pleasure if it’s bought off-the-shelf?


Your seed found a crevice in my four metre wall

The minutest wee hole that I can’t see at all

Surviving the drought and sun’s Balkan degrees

You’re a tough little cookie; the Rambo of trees

But how did you get there? That’s got me perplexed

Oh the wonders of nature, and whatever next?


The Vigorous Fig

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