It's summer time, and joy oh joy, the garden begins to flower.
I can go out, enjoy the air, and muck about with shears and broom.
The birds are singing, butterflies and bees, there's buzzing in the air.
But it's also time to do battle with the bindweed I detest.

It grows at an impossible rate, you can almost see it move.
Over walls, behind trees, around everything that lies in its path.
It's evil, despicable, a parasite, a killer, a leech.
There is no way to eradicate, why did they plant this thing here?

In four short weeks it could cover every inch. Never turn your back.
There are no half measures, you must go in armed, attack with all speed!
Massacre every last tendril that dares to peek above the soil.
Destroy every twist, every spiral, each pathetic little leaf.

Not all of gardening is wasted time. There is some satisfaction.
There is beauty in the roses and the grass when it is well mown.
The weed excels in its own way, it thrives, survives, and propagates.
But could it not just do all that in someone else's garden please!