One would swear I was trying to kill,
The plant given to me when I was ill.
Placed on my desk in view of eye,
The little sucker always goes dry!
A gift from my wife to help with anxiety,
To bring the outdoors a bit inside to me.
Perched on my desk where often forgotten,
Leaves turn yellow, brown, and rotten.
When I notice its sad existence at last,
I save its poor life with a water-glass.
The very next say it looks happy and green,
And I don’t feel quite so anxious and mean.
So if like me – you’re not much of a green thumb,
Have your wife get you a Philodendron!