In Praise of the Humble Cucumber!


The CucumberSome years ago, Mrs Bard grew some cucumbers in our small greenhouse. She lovingly watered, fed and cared for them. When they were ready to pick, one by one they disappeared. When there was just one remaining she kept watch at the window. She was about to give up her vigil when she spied the culprit. Our cat had crept into the  greenhouse and was chomping on the remaining cucumber. If it happens now we blame our granddaughter who is equally as fond of them as the cat all those years ago…

There’s nothing like cucumber,
If you’re standing in a queue,
Maybe at the airport,
On the way to Timbucktoo!

They also enjoy cucumber,
In Sandwich down in Kent,
They are so very fond of it,
They say it’s heaven sent!

You’ll always find cucumber,
When you have tea at the Ritz,
It goes so well with Earl Grey,
Better than any biscuits!

Let’s hear it for the cucumber,
It makes a salad green,
Between two sheets of soft white bread
It’s fit for a noble Queen!

© Baldock Bard 2014
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