There is a growing sense
That I am becoming rather dense.
Inside the well-made garden fence.
Know that it has often rained
With sun, it should be explained,
And I am feeling most constrained.
Still I guess I should not shout.
But nor will I just sit and pout.
Somehow, I will work it out!
I have some rhizome tricks,
A way beneath the path of bricks.
Come spring, expect new sticks.