Not a Daffodil poem.
I’m not at all green fingered; now the world doesn’t need to know
That everywhere I’d sow a flower seed – a big weed would grow.
The alternative to this is no better – the thought of it gives me a nervous tick
They are hideous – well at least I think so – those flowers made out of plastic.
For years, I lived not a stones throw away from Dublin’s Botanical Gardens
Still don’t know my Aspidistras from my Rhododendrons.
Also in Dublin we have the Phoenix Park, a place where you can walk for miles
Where you’d never see or smell a flower – nothing only happy smiles.
Then they go and ruin it and invent this thing called Bloom
Which if you suffer from hay fever – it’s a place of doom and gloom!
Just incase you are in anyway distracted, this is a flower poem of sorts
I tell you there is no escaping them – even when on the beach, they adorn summer short.
You’ve seen them; I know you have, dressed in their Hawaiian gear
Honestly I tell you; from a stone they’d draw a tear.
On saying all that I must confess – I have no problem at all
To sit in a room where flower abound – once they’re hanging on a wall!
There are lots of flower poems out there; there is even one about the Daffodil
If I were ever to meet its author – he would know that looks can kill.
So in conclusion may I suggest – holiday in pollen country by all means
But make sure you are well stocked up on antihistamines.
C. J. Black©β
8th July 2013.