In which I wax poetic

I was so worn out by the time I did all that garden work, I decided to sit down and rest and write a silly poem.  By the way, I liked the flavor of the parsnips, but they were stringy.  According to the Internet, that is caused by less than ideal growing conditions.  We did have a drought this year, so maybe that's part of the problem.  

MEDIOCRE ME

My garden's often weedy and tormented much by pests.

My green beans and tomatoes will not ever be the best.

Blight and weeds and squash bugs get the upper hand on me,

And yet you'd be amazed at all the food it gives me, free.

I really don't like housework... all that chasing after dust.

I do not clean my fridge until it gets so bad I must.

I vacuum up the dog hair and I'll mop the kitchen floor:

I do the things I have to, but not one iota more.

Oftentimes I like to sing and play my Dove guitar,

And I enjoy doing that, but I'm no singing star.

My voice is nothing special. The guitar, I don't play well.

It gets me by. You see, I've not endeavored to excel.

Even as a kid in school, first quarter I'd do fine

But once the new wore off of it, I'd slowly fall behind.

Studying seemed senseless. I had better things to do...

Like walking in the rain or climbing hills to see the view.

As I look back upon my life, that's how it's always been,

No matter what the contest, I just never strove to win.

And this trait is inherent to my whole identity,

So I have quite a good time being mediocre me.