Sense Sonnet - Tickler

 Chore No More

She passed away, my loving wife.

She had run the household so well.

But now these were chores of my life,

Be more aware of where I dwell.

In the kitchen she long cared for

A fern that hung over the sink.

So that seemed like an easy chore,

Giving the fern a weekly drink,

Which I did as many weeks passed.

One day my daughter did stop by.

As I did chores, she was aghast,

I watered the fern, she asked why.

My daughter's words did disenchant,

"Dad, that fern is a plastic plant."