I then told my dad. His smile was soon gone.
"Got time on your hands? Go water the lawn!"
But whenever I could, I sneaked off to see
All the dangling green fruit on my cucumber tree.

I thought to myself, "If I had some brine
And some vinegar, too—now that would be fine!
Then I could make pickles—they'd all be for me
'Cause they all would come from my cucumber tree!"

And one day there came a quick summer shower
That browned all the grasses and withered each flower.
"Acid rain," groaned my dad, and I ran fast to see
What it had done to my cucumber tree.

But low and behold! My tree stood up straight
And instead of cucumbers to slice on a plate,
Pickles were hanging from each heavy bough—
The rain plus the acid had done it somehow!

But I never, no never, told Mom or my dad,
And I ate far more pickles than ever I had.
All summer long, there were pickles for me,
And to think that they came from my cucumber tree!