Hello, my name is Cactus. I’ve lived here for some time.
A little girl planted me with her papa.
The next line doesn’t rhyme. (Oh, it does)
I live under a bush they call Rosemary.
They almost forgot I was here.
But then, Rosemary got a good trimming,
maybe too good, I fear.
The norm is they take a little,
but this time they took a lot,
and here I was just waiting,
with my mouth open wide in a gawp.
Like I said, behind me is Rosemary,
her front open wide like a cave.
But I’ll guard her from interlopers,
with my spikey mouth and arms splayed.

© Joel Tipple
295