At The Green House. . .

“Pick up these vegetables, please”, she said.

But I knew her words I’d soon forget,

So I pictured the vegetables on my head.

Where they’ll stay till I reach the Green Mark-et.

Then one by one, I’ll take them down.

And pick out a match with discerning care,

In a few short ticks I’d have them all,

Lest I lose a radish in my hair. . .

. . . again.  

A poem for fans of visual memorization. . . . help me think of a title for it, please?

 

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