Plastic tube of high quality rubber,
crisscrossed like a reptile across vast expanse of lush green lawn,
fitted tightly to tiny apertures of gushing liquid,
sprinkling even sprays of water on irregular protrusions of land,
washing tonnes of dirt from broad leaf skin,
submerging patches of fallow land in wet pools of nutrition,
milking young seedlings with motherly caress,
filling empty mud bowls for the sparrows to bathe,
quenching thirst of scorched travelers passing by,
rendering baked tree branch unsuitable for firewood,
splashing it fiercely with straight missiles of water,
producing fountains of water when compressed subtly by hand,
a portable instrument for conveying gallons of water,
lambasting the soil with rockets of frothy spray,
flooding vacant crevices of land with buckets of minerals,
whitewashing walls of the stone brick house of years of accumulated dust,
enabling flower buds to blossom after few days of application,
smooth bodied exterior comprising a kilometer of length,
with several offshooting nozzles vomiting droplets of water,
having the potential of being used as a sturdy rope,
lying limp amidst the camouflage of entangled grass,
is my decade old and tubular green garden hosepipe
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