Annabelle Gordon was an amateur gardener
She did all the work herself without a partner
She didn’t grow no food, only flowers
While tending her 'flock' she'd spend countless hours

The small town she lived in was called Cloverville
Every year at end of Spring was a city ritual
The city hosted a Flower Show at the Gardens
The Beautification Council offered no pardons

The rules were strict and couldn't be bent or broke
The judges were impeccable, above bribes or a poke
Annabelle had competed for the last decade
Her flowers complimented a float in the parade

She coveted the first prize of the Garden Show
A Golden Shovel it was, to prove you could grow
Plated in gold it was, not really ‘gold’ gold
However, she didn’t care, just to have and hold

Most of the time she lost to Bitsy Evans
Bitsy was a gal who dropped down from the heavens
Petite, sweet, and southern through and through
To win the show, Bitsy knew just what to do

The jealous part of Anabelle wondered who she slept with
To win every year and be presented with a gift
Her heart and mind sparred on the subject
While her eagle eye focused on the object

Finally, she decided that no matter the cost
Nothing would stop her, not even an early frost
She was going to get that shovel and mount it
Right above the mantle so she could flaunt it

She worked in her garden for several weeks
Hoeing, pruning, trying internet tweaks
At last her garden looked like paradise
Big beautiful blooms, Wow! It looked nice!

Her Morning Glories met the sun rise with dew
The rays of said sun shot prisms anew
Her day lilies growled as they greeted the dawn
Nothing could beat the ‘clothes’ they had on

The Snap Dragons were perfect, each bulb formed
Nary a stray leaf or petal blared ‘deformed’
Big beautiful Roses bloomed trellis high
Each deep red petal reached for the sky

There were other flowers too, both big and small
Too many for her to showcase them all
Her roses were the beauties that would win her the show
And that Golden Shovel (when she looked at it) would glow

Bitsy could not win this year, she thought, her heart dark
Her roses were fantastic, truly a benchmark
One more day and the judgement was at hand
The waiting was really much more than she could stand

Finally, it was the time she had been dying for
The judges were on the way, just a few houses more
She wrung her hands in anticipation
Eagerly awaiting the rise in her station

At last, they were here, examining her roses
Looking at the petals, holding them to their noses
“What a glorious aroma these roses have!” said one.
Another agreed with a shake of her head, saying, “Bar none.”

“We still have several more to see,” the chair said,
“It is way too early to make up our head.”
“Alas, Chairwoman, you are so right,” the first agreed.
“As beautiful as they are, we have many more to see.”

“Pity.” Said another, his voice deep. “I love the smell.
I believe they are the best smelling ones in this knell.
But we must be fair and move on down the line.
But this garden, to me, is sublime.”

Annabelle held her breath as the judges moved away.
Her anger rose up and consumed her that day.
She was so sure that Bitsy would win again this year
The little green monster named Envy appeared

“Ah! Annabelle!” It crooned in her ear, “You tried so hard!
And for what? Spending time in your yard.
The entire neighborhood admires your talents.
And the way your yard is beautifully balanced.”

“I don’t know,” Annabelle thought, “As much as I want
The Golden Shovel is a prestigious award to flaunt.
But it wouldn’t be the same if I took it by force.
I’ll have to wait until it comes as a matter of course.”

Her anger quelled, and the murderous intentions fell away
Annabelle came back to her sweet self that day
As much as she wanted the Golden Shovel award
It would have to be something she, on her own, scored.

So, she awaited the judges’ decision, sitting on her porch.
It was hard for her to wait without carrying a torch
Down the street a large party was descending on her
Suddenly the air was thicker and harder to endure.

They, the party, marched up to her bottom stair
Bitsy Evans, the spokeswoman, stopped with a flair
She fidgeted and hemmed and hawed before speaking
Clearing her throat, she said without squeaking,

“Annabelle Gordon, because of your beautiful roses
And the fact that the no councilperson opposes
We want to name you the recipient of the Golden Shovel
To reward you for your fantastic struggle.

It is not easy to grow roses with such an aroma
And I must say that it is a very unique diploma
Congratulations, my friend, for a job well done
Maybe next year competition will be more fun.”

Without further ado, The Golden Shovel changed hands
Right at this moment, on the mantle it stands
A righteous tribute to a mountain of hard work
Annabelle is very proud of her latest artwork.