Tag Archives: #flowers

The Bee and the Flower

The Bee sat upon the Flower

for just under an hour,

which was longer than usual, by far;

The Bee sang a song,

the Flower sang along,

(she joined in the chorus, ‘La la!’)

.

When the Bee flew away,

it was a much duller day,

thought the Flower, with a sigh and a tear;

‘but Bees must buzz on,

and the memory’s not gone’,

thought the Flower,

‘and the song was so lovely to hear.’

.

Then she sang the chorus

of that song once again,

much quieter than before,

and she sang it to all those that passed

in the Sun and the rain,

it could softly be heard

all day long, until night fell at last.

.

‘La la,

la la,

la la…’

Stretching the facts, somewhat.

Daffodils!

Go with me on this:

All daffodils are yellow,

and all daffodils are flowers;

therefore, all flowers are daffodils,

and all flowers are yellow.

Wallflowers, on the other hand

are made of brick

and Cornflowers, apart from telling bad jokes,

are related to the Corn-plaster, the Cornflake and the Cornetto.

All wild flowers sometimes become almost livid,

Some are quite restrained,

the livid ones are more vivid,

the restrained ones are usually released after questioning.

There is a suggestioning

that some or all of the above

is wrong, or, at the least untrue.

Perception is everything,

I leave the knowledge of choice

to you.

Flora Who?

image

You can talk about flowers
For hours and hours
But, I can see no Fuchsia in that.
And it’s no good you
Making a rhododendrama about all that
Either.
And row upon row of roses
Make me numb with dumbness
Although Lavender Blue
With its dilly dillying rings a bell
And even if I Columbine all my efforts
Into one
I may just about recall
Some Daffodils that once
Fluttered and danced about a bit.
That is all.

Dandelion Poems

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Dandelion Poems

I never knew that there were
So many poems upon
The subject of the dandelion.
But, when I looked…
I found
A plethora of words
Upon the golden-leaved plant
That stems from the ground.

It made me happy to find
That there has been a tiny yellow flower
Inspiring the poets of mankind.

Flower-Me-Not

flower-me-not

Flower-Me-Not

Roses, I read , read somewhere,

Are like my love;

Violets are there for when you are blue.
“These are but flowers!”
Are my words to you.
Every Dahlia, when I wake up
I wander in the garden of the world
Unaware of the Daisies to come.
My Tulips taste of the air;
My Irises see the colours;
My Nasturtium smells the fragrances.
Whilst I may not know the make or model of the things that grow;
I can still savour the flowers that ‘you’  know;
And where there’s contempt from a gardener with needs ;
‘I’ can embrace the wild beauty of weeds.