Green In Winter

My father had green fingers, everything grew, even me,
green beans reaching for the sky, brushing aside sweet pea;
now, my brothers and sister also grew from the same hand,
tall, to explore in winter like Tasmania, many a green land.

Is there green in heaven - is anything growing there?
Or is it a beatiful beige carpet, everything left bare?
My boss went to USA, saw beige offices, thought best,
we disagreed, all came to work dressed in beige to protest.

Dad mowed the lawn in fancy stripes, Da Vinci green,
my mother pegged his Fair Isle pullover then winked at Jeanne,
Brian wore his dark green YHA shorts astride a green bicycle,
fine cuttings flew thro' the air to complete a picture magical.

I'll take the green with me to heaven, I'll never be cold,
it was good because later in my life the green turned to gold.

Note : 'Gold' is my wife's nickname!