Today I strung and snapped some beans
and didn’t drop a one.
I threw in tiny red-skinned taters
and boiled ‘em ‘till they’s done.

And then I sliced a mater ripe
and ate a piece or two.
The cukes were next – bring on the salt! –
‘cause nothing else will do. 

High on the hog! They cheered and cried
as I dished up their bowls.
For nothing beats a garden meal,
when memory’s the goal.