I’ve got a fever, climbing higher
Not for cowbell or romance
No, my cherished mad desire
Run amok is one for plants
I cannot pass a bulb display
And not be lured by what I see
Big Box, nursery, grocery store
The roadside stands call out to me
The catalogs are streaming in
From California, Michigan,
With seeds and bare roots, potted plants
Exotics, hybrids
What’s the chance
Cruel death awaits a southland mix
If I expose it to Zone 6?
Then there are supplies
And tools, and spray
To feed and keep the bugs away
There’s compost, mulch,
Peat moss and sand
Amendments to improve the land
Let’s not forget the vegetables
The heirlooms can be dicey
But grafted onto hybrid stock
It’s better yield, but pricey
Spring fever is incurable
Just one thing can curtail it
When summer comes, humidity
Will thankfully derail it
