All the grass around me dies,
For two miles as the crow flies.
And you should never think to doubt
That the seeds I plant will die as they sprout.
It’s been years since I saw a flower bloom;
When they meet me they meet their doom.
And you will not see a living tree
Within fifteen miles of me.
I don’t know why, just that I can’t
Prevent the death of any plant.
In fact, I kill them with greater ease
Than any insect, animal, vine, or disease.
At first, I thought it might be something in the dirt,
But I now know it’s me who causes their hurt.
I once hoped bad water might be the cause,
But truthfully the fault lies in my own flaws.
I cannot keep a plant alive,
No matter what amenities I contrive.
A good life I cannot provide,
For a potted plant kept inside.
And outside there is only death,
For any plant the feels my breath.
Not even a cactus will manage to thrive,
Not so long as I survive.
I may never see a flower bud,
For every seed I plant becomes a dud.
I’ve now given up on growing a garden,
And soon I think the ground will harden.
I know now that I’d have to be dumb,
Not to realize that I have a brown thumb.