Last fall, Steve planted thickets of the stuff–and every time he admires it, he chants:
The first year it sleeps.
The second year it creeps.
The third year it LEAPS.
If he’s feeling particularly energetic, he does a little leap and flings his arms out at the last bit.
I’m not really sure if this year it’s sleeping or creeping, but there’s one crazy stalk that’s ingested steroids or something.
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