I could eat fields of buttercups and drink down ponds of water lilies. Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers, too. I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe and underpin with nettles. I could rise with the roses, lay with the lilies, shade with the sage, sing with the trumpet vines and run away from home with a Turk's cap on my head and a pansy in my pocket, until the four o’clocks say it’s time to come home for evening primrose and then bed.
Increase your tool chest by one.