Around timber frames they grew,
And as best I recall some were ten foot tall,
A shadier place I never knew.
The hollowed marrows, Old Joe dried,
Nature’s sun did this the best,
He adorned his fabulous aviaries with them,
And the birds, in them loved to nest.
The lush green grapes also grew,
Atop that rickety old frame,
Built from timber Old Joe recycled,
Again and again and again.
All along the aviary facade,
Old Joe’s marrows and vines hung,
A backdrop to the beautiful gardens,
And testimony to a hero so unsung.