'Tis the only clever word, i know-
I use it, frequently, like a little country mouse-
Scampering down the Cobbled Lane-
Near to, Mr. Green Thumbs House!

A vestige of time, 'tis traced by me-
Near to, only one, wilted Red Rose-
I use my word, with much elan'-
As, the other flowers, become very close-

'Horticulture', and its varied realms-
Settled, 'tis the fertile of the loam-
While the mulch and the earthy warmth-
Makes the orchids, feel, so very much, at home-

Atmosphere, 'tis everything...
The humidity, the temperature-e'er aware-
All necessities, in 'Horticulture'-
Are entrusted, in, Mr. Green Thumbs Care!

After, basking, in all the rich splendour-
Of such, a fine floral bouquet-
I make, like a little country mouse-
And scamper, myself far away!

Oh, but the 'Horticulture'-
'Tis, still, grand as can be -
For, Mr. Green Thumbs Hothouse-
'Tis the Gold standard, in Flowering Beauty!

Theodora (Theo) Onken

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mr-green-thumbs-hot-house/