So then came along a journo who interviewed Zesty Lestie
He asked all sorts of serious questions, believe it! None were jesty
He spoke of pots and plants and blooms and things pesty
He asked for her potting and ground secrets ... and she said "Yesty."
Now how is it that you have such sweet pots sans the mess-ty
of re-potting, re-planting, re-using, come! come! be confesty,
To which she replied "Of course, why not? Be my guesty,"
"It's the interest I have in things green, read on ... it's my questy."
Alas too, he heard how she wished for the birds to be nesty
in her potted trees, but they listened not to her be-hesty
Most ignored her pleas 'cept one fat grey chap with a fine cresty
That visited for water, seeds and fruit - from the westy.
Journo asked for her favourites, but he got no answer from Lestie
"There are too many great plants - so there can be no contesty,
From plant type to colours to weather, for you, you'll know what's besty,
Just choose your own and you'll see ... the history will be the resty!"
Now when it comes to figgings and diggings and riggings and all
xmeecosmic is so right, it's the chatter and care in love with which we all fall!
O dear and thanks I am smiling smiling smiling! Cheers now ...