Mistress of six acres

"A gardener's confession":

The garden is like a garden, only six acres, don't tell your friends
I found myself a job from dawn to dusk.
I bought myself a plot and forgot about the dominoes.
I admire apples, I don't go to the cinema now.
I don’t turn on the TV and don’t indulge in wine.
In the evenings I don't walk - I just run to the garden.

Now I do not go on vacation and do not go to the theater.
I'd rather sit in the garden under a pear on manure.
At home or at work, I am always full of worries.
I am provided with work on the site all year round.
Snow fell again work - you need to dig in the cherry,
And I work hard, I don't even have time to devour.

I scare rodents, mice, trample snow under a tree,
I’m chasing Zaitsev so much that I’ll go for a hound.
The snow has melted: - work has started: paint there, wash here,
And repaint the gazebo and whitewash the trees.
May, June, July and August I'm in the garden like a war
I toil under the sun for a whole year, and my wife also gets it.

Now I am at war with birds, then with worms or aphids,
And I make a rake, dust swirls above the ground.
Of course, you cannot describe everything, you cannot tell, you cannot take into account.
And so you breathe the air - you can barely feel like it.
And we dig, and we plant, we pour water under the trees,
And we know one way: here is a plot, here is our house.

Forgotten Sundays, I don’t know Saturdays
During the day I make jams, at night I make compote.
I crush juice from tomatoes, pickle cucumbers,
From such a fun life, I will soon give up.
And none of the gardeners will come to the grave,
Because gardeners are very busy people.

I found myself a cheap round wood for my dacha,
And now they drag me every day to the OBKHSS.
I've worn out my health, I don't have the strength to take a walk,
The pretty neighbor stopped worrying.
Forgotten all the novels, even no time to sleep,
I'd better get bird droppings somewhere.

The thief made a hole in the fence, you need to nail the board
Ile in my hands with a crooked stick near the hole to spend the night.
I have never been treated, I was as healthy as a whale,
And in the country he caught a cold and grabbed radiculitis.
And only legs remained, only cheekbones and mosles,
It seems that only round donkeys are building a dacha for themselves!

Like a donkey I am day and night at work and in the garden
I can't move I can see I will die soon
Under such a load I will fall like a sack,
They will bury them, put up a cross and write: "Sleep Kurkul"!