He’s two halves the man he used to be
The gardener was almost done, his work was nearly through
“Just one shrub left to trim,” he said, “but wow, it’s big as two!
What shape do you suppose I ought to trim this bush into?”
He asked the trusty clippers which were hanging from his hip
The clippers, answering as they always did, said simply: SNIP
“Aha, I’ve got a clever plan!” the garden-tender said
And started in to execute the notion in his head
“Clip, clippers, clip! And soon you can retire to the shed.”
The sun was hot; the gardener’s sweaty brow began to drip
The clippers didn’t tire at all; they just went SNIP, SNIP, SNIP
“It’s funny,” said the man, as his creation took its shape
“I don’t recall I’ve seen this plant before in my landscape.
“Has it always been here? How’d it my noticing escape?”
The shears, with which the gardener had always been equipped
Gave no sign that they heard him as they SNIPPED and SNIPPED and SNIPPED
In not too long, the clipping and the pruning was complete
The gardener stepped back to have look, feeling quite beat
And said “see, clippers? My tribute to you! Isn’t it neat?”
A rustling from the shrub! He dropped his clippers from his grip
He couldn’t breathe to scream—so all he heard was one last: SNIP
Wear this shirt: out working in the yard. If you don’t have a yard, we’ll let you wear it to work in ours.
Don’t wear this shirt: to deliver your local weather accu-cast; it messes with the greenscreen, and makes you look like a torsoless collection of floating limbs.
This shirt tells the world: “Some days you get the topiary. Some days the topiary gets you.”
We call this color: Your Ass Is Grass
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