Right on time, Strava paused at the gate,
the GoodGym team’s come to meet our fate.
We ain’t here for no roadside dash job,
we’re a veritable mission verified flash mob.
It’s Ms J’s place, the case: a race
to save face for the base of a garden space,
unlock the deep embrace these weeds have put in place.
Now we three’d need heed no plead to proceed with this good deed;
we’d had it in for weeds since we'd been knee high to a centipede.
So up to speed and good to go,
we raked, we swept, we laughed, we joked.
We talked about Hamilton, you know, the show.
We did whatever you do with a hoe.
A crowd formed, well a crowd of one.
It had whiskers and sniffed at leaves for fun.
Ms J said that’s Trilby, pointing to the cat.
You know, Trilby, just like the hat.
Then Trilby got bored and sat by the door,
miaowed loudly and shifted from paw to paw.
The rain came down so up went our hoods,
then out came the camera to capture the goods.
Mission ambition had turned us magician,
we cast out the weeds, now it's good news Mr Garden: expecto remission.
Ms J it was a pleasure, thanks a bunch.
Team, crunch time is over. Now we brunch.