La fraise géante

I decided to grow the giant strawberry
To finally conquer this fear I've always had of plants,
And driven by the desire to be accepted
Among the gardeners as a colleague and a master.
To prove to the world that I'm a plumbing champ
I set up the irrigation system all by myself.
I had just one meter left to dig to the greenhouse
When a black fountain burst up from the ground.
Water so thick and dirty... This ain't water, I swear!
It has the taste, it has the smell, but yes, it's oil!"
And while my fingers examined the substance,
I thought of those lines from a Berber poet:

Happy is the one who, deep in their garden
Finds oil and shares it with their friends.

The giant strawberry was quickly forgotten, instead
I filled bowls, jugs, and cups.
All my neighbors flocked in, drawn by the oil
Armed with gas cans, pots, and pans.
An old man forgot his rheumatism and pointed out
Parking spots for cars and sold raffle tickets.
Already a press photographer and a journalist
Were just ahead of the first bus full of tourists.
A merchant set up to handle all this traffic
In my greenhouse, a fry stand and a public restroom.
A fierce choir of kids came to appear
To sing me this serenade under my window:

Happy is the one who, deep in their garden
Finds oil and shares it with their friends.

My garden soon became a pilgrimage site.
It was already featured in travel brochures.
I saw lots of old friends come to fill their bottles
And act like we’d just parted the day before.
Even the Pope sent me a message of peace
And gifted me the bike that Eddy Merckx had given him.
The Mafia and several car manufacturers
Offered me fertile business deals.
An impresario chose my garden to host
An outdoor jazz and rock festival.
I even received a doily from Annabelle
And she had embroidered these words on the lace:

Happy is the one who, deep in their garden
Finds oil and shares it with their friends.

So I took out a patent on my drilling method
I installed tanks in the basement and the garage.
I was planning an urgent refinery
When one of my techs shook my confidence.
"Your oil field," he said, mercilessly,
"Is the pipeline that runs from Bordeaux to Paris."
That's life, and it sure has its surprises.
Then I remembered my first venture
And fate, which mocked me for a moment, wanted
To see my botanical efforts crowned with success
Because fattened on fries and washed down with beer
The strawberry was popping out through the roof of the greenhouse.

A strawberry as big as a house
Help me carry it, and we’ll share it.