Autumn in the garden

Both FB and me were fond of poetry. Often we would read to each other. The prose effort in the previous post recalled exchanges we had before Heather passed away, and reflected my mood in the Garden of Remembrance one evening.
Sometimes I would pen a silly rhyming ode for FB or friends. Here's one I thought of earlier this week while working in the garden...

I've planted the effing panolas
In the tubs like you wanted me to
Though it's perishing cold in late autumn
And I've a gawd-awful dose of the flu.

I've swept up the leaves on the patio
And piled them all up in a heap
'Cos I knew you would silently nag me
So I wouldn't be able to sleep.

I've dug all over the veg patch
And forked in manure to boot
Now the plot is okay for spring planting
I did it for you me old fruit.

I've worked long and hard in the garden
Though it's broken my back I declare
So I'll now go and soak in the bathtub
And change into clean underwear.