Willowy Wickopy

FIREWEED FAIRY

Who would’ve thought

such a match could be made,

…the Wickopy boy

with the daughter

of the Primrose Family.

Herb, whose father must toil

from morning to night

courting a girl whose family

owns practically everything

in sight.

Yet we saw them one evening,

riding horseback

over hill and dale,

Sally rode side-saddle,

by the stream

along Deerhorn trail.

They then veered off to follow

the new wilderness road

into the woodlands,

that are now being heavily logged.

The loggers heard Herb yell “Fire’em up!”

Let’s see what these fillies can do,

I’ll race you to the top, Sal…

You owe me dessert if you lose!...

“…One sweet as nectar, my honey,

but, if I lose by chance,

I promise I’ll make you laugh

by doing a bunny dance.”

Bloomin’ all summer long,

they returned

to play these games

alternating between them

which one would win.

Heedless of others

and all that they thought

whether they rubbed them

the wrong way, they cared

not,

As they were smitten,

waterproofed, insulated

within their love pod

as if carried by the wind

spiraling high above.

It left one wondering

how the father

hadn’t a clue,

but when the news hit,

Oh, how he put on a show!

“Pile ‘o warts!” he shouted,

“He’s as good as fodder.

How dare he nibble

at the skirt

of my only dear daughter!

This he sees ‘cause he’s so green…

as the cat’s meow

Shoot! I’ll root

this problem out,

no more

will he come to call!

Men’s brains…

oh, how
they do stir up trouble

how dare he choose her,

he makes my blood boil!

You’d think he’d have courted

Emma Tique instead,

brought his affections

to all altitudes

for them to wed.

But no, rumour has it,

it is him who piles his fever

upon my daughter,

This woeful joining

I adamantly vow to alter.

I’ll pull all ties to those  
I know who can help
from the Soviet Union, North America
and all across Europe.

Boy, I’ll make a cure,

I’ll burn and sweep all over this land.

I’ll spin into the scene,

five of my briskest kin

They’ll help in finishing it…

all this fluff and stuff

doggon’it, I call Queen Charlott

we’ll undo all

that’s been cloaked

and spun.

Had I only gotten wind of this sooner

before it went from a molehill to a mountain

before it germinated and spread

outta hand like a wildfire.

I’da pounded the root

right to the fiber

I’da split the stem open
dipped ‘im in oil

this leather-faced chap

glutinous

for my sweet daughter

would’ve learned quickly

that he aught to choose another

He hasn’t the inner pith

worthy of her hand

in marriage

With the land swelling

with so many others

he ought to extract

one of them instead!

Now though the girl’s father did bulge

so tightly with hot indignation

that we thought he might burst

Well, he had no power in the end

As Willowy Wickopy
and Tall Slender Sally

bound their love together quite tightly

and so then finally

all stood side by side

tall, and erect

as Sally’s father gave her away

to be bound in marriage

Yet all the while
one could see his teeth
grinding minutely
still, he did not refute them

His demeanor did soften somewhat

during the father/daughter dance

as she slowly spiraled around

like a vision of one floating on air

in her dress of  layer upon layer
of fine silk gossamer veils

with a pattern of blossoms

fully opened at the bottom
that changed as they spiralled

up and around the dress
getting smaller and closing up

until they became ribbon buds

fastened at the shoulders on top

This is the end of the story

though a strange one it might be,

I’ll tell you another one day

over a cup of tea!

***********************************

Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall

some of the properties

of a plant,

plus its uses and looks.

If you'd like to hear them

as I am often on the wing,

You may contact me through

this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)

then I'll give you a ring.

***********************************

Prickly Puzzle

 THISTLE FAIRY

I’ve a puzzle to propose to you

about the Scottish, with a little hint, too,

in that the answer involves the Danes;
So if you please do kindly listen,

Why do you suppose

from some of the flowers
that Scotland could choose
for their emblem,

amongst some others, like

Daisies, Buttercups, Forget-Me-Knots,

Lilies, Poppies, Teasel, Phlox,

Fleabane, Bloodroot, Pussy Toes,

Harebells, Blues Bells, and Yarrow,

Blue-eyed Mary, Bouncing Bet,

Indian Pipe, Bride’s Bonnet,

Arrowhead, Fever Few, Lizard Tail,

Black-Eyed Susie, Solomon’s Seal,

Camas, Water Cress, Snow-on-the-Mountain,

Ox-eye Daisy, Pokeweed, Trillium,

Pearly Everlasting, Morning Glory…

Again, so now what could be the story

that would prompt Scotland
to choose from all the flowers without a prickle,

the Cirsium vulgare, (in other words),

the Speary Thistle?

(I will tell you!…)

... (to be continued,

LIVE, your event or mine)

************************

Contact: lovellsimonsjanet

(at) yahoo (dot) ca

Walk Softly

LICHEN FAIRY

Walk softly upon the earth

when in the forest you go

for that to which you may tread upon

can take thousands of years to grow

I’m speaking of the lichen

that is brittle when it sleeps

waiting for the waters

as it slowly grows and creeps

in shallow soil

sun-baked rocks

along a decayed wood

on tree branches, also bark

found all across the world

in hues of green, red, orange and yellow

and also that of black

It’s really two plants

growing together as one

each providing

what the other lacks...

... (to be continued,

LIVE, your event or mine)

************************

Contact: lovellsimonsjanet

(at) yahoo (dot) ca

Choice on the Platter

Allow me to introduce myself,

I’m Lucien Mouces

and I’ve something’ to say

about those Buck horns

try’in to court my sister today;

I know I shouldn’t have done it,

but I read her diary, Ha!

and I’d rather suck a seed

than become related to any one

of those gummy sticky
mess o’ fellas.

I ain’t kidd’n yah,

The choice on the platter

would reduce a bull eating

(He’d never get fatter)

Every one o’them’s

like the root of a toothache,

I’d pulverize ‘em

if given a chance.
They’d need more than a

primitive bandaide

to stem the flowing

from one ocean to the other

from my twisting of their

goose tongues, rib warts, and other

Devil’s shoe strings

to prevent and cure their affection

and itch for my little sister

 (oh, did I mention?)

You see, Phyllis is my little sister,

my one and only kin,

Blond as Indian Wheat

tender as the first new leaves of Spring

‘Ere, my little upshine!

Back to her I’ll go

If and when she needs me

to guide and protect her so,

Ever since our father died

as he lumbered through a region

within the bowels of our mountain, Nelly

to draw forth a felon;

40 years within the ground he lay

(I’m loathe to re-live the pain)

before the mountains of debris

from an avalanche
could be removed

to reveal his remains.

I’ve felt responsible

(Now, aren’t I the rightest?)

to kill the worms, well,

at least the politest

would be to reduce the fever

of John Dice, Luke or Rhea’s

affection and itch

for my little sister.

Then there’s Aleric’s Kin,

goes by the name of Raja,

He’s real lax at his work

a pain-in-the… butt and,

I’m certain him or I’d

plan to go “fisty-cuffs”

sooner or later

(He’d better keep his cool,

or I reckon I’ll itch to

knock him first off the platter.)

Ah, Music clears the head,

Art is right in us,

I should partake of some

to allow this inflamed rage

to diminish, and,

I’ll think of my friend, Herb,

He’s a good soldier,

He wouldn’t allow his feelings

to ignite through a prolonged smoulder.

And Yes, there is Phyllis to consider

and her feelings on the whole matter,

Yet, I can’t help but wonder

how I might tip the lot
off of the platter.

I’ve got it, Herb’s cousin,

in fact goes by the name Shawn,

He’s a kind and gentle bloke

surely worthy and perhaps
able to win my sister’s affection.

Do please excuse me

I’ve no time to lose,

and some important planning

to do before I introduce

a match surely made in heaven

well, with a little help from me,

The truth will become
apparent in the end
Just you wait, and see!

***********************************

Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall
some of the properties
of a plant,
plus its uses and looks.

If you'd like to hear them
as I am often on the wing,
You may contact me through
this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)
then I'll give you a ring.

********************

Doc's Prediction

Many long hours

did they float

   upon undulating waters,

to and fro

oscillating with the waves

 upon the sea

as they were heaved

further and further

from the scene 

where earlier that day

they gambled and lost

a battle, so now

sat all sorts

of sailors

slowly swirling

upon debris

truly an eerie sight to see.

Captain Richer of Oran

should have heeded the call

of Nick Curly Doc,

Seer from ancient Gaul,

but he had felt the man simply

to be “a strange gent”

so pushed on with these words,

“It’s vital men,
that we heave ho, set sail
to the day I’ve committed,
I’m anti to the score

as Nick has predicted
I’ll wage all that we have up against it

I’ll not heed this ancient dire etiquette,

It’s eruptive! Do cease all this running to Nick,
Quell the itch, and the swelling
Delve deeper, and if

below the rust, mold and the ink stains,
you reveal a truth that is quite plain
beyond on this dark speculation
then perhaps it may ring warm to my heart
and I’ll give consideration
to altering the date that we depart
with much gladness, for the morrow
following the one I have marked,

‘Til then know that all dire prediction
is to me like a de-tonic to the entire system,
and no matter how elephant enticing

it has been spun,
it more than slightly lacks the sound

of credibility rung

Not only that

it smells of old cheese
that needs more than a lemon

to make it palatable to please
even my first mate, Cal

who won’t uptake any of it
So, how can you expect me

to swallow even the slightest bit?

A syrup or honey, might
help a tickle or cough,

but nothing would sweeten

any part of this, so from hereon…


I’ll not be deterred by this gent’s
Yellow-bellied attitude,
You can call me coarse-ribbed

mad or rude,
Slight me to heat me to the color of  red, Nah!
It’s all the more likely that instead,
I’ll call you blue

either way we’ll push off,
through snow, rain or frost.

And So they departed

on that fateful day
still all fell victim

as predicted,

beginning with a gale
that suddenly erupted

The main mast tilted
while emitting low groans
and as it pushed over
there came different tones
somewhat like a sour scream
before the telling crack

in this nightmarish dream
that sent all to go running
as the ship sharply pitched
forward, then backward

the captain’s eye twitched

as his body was heaved
into a string puppet like dance
as he lost his sea legs

along with his balance.

All men on the main deck
were now called to arms
to pull up the ropes and
all of the chains
to right what they could
of these dire antics

from the storm that now raged
utterly manic.

The men frantically hoisted
up the foresail

to steer the ship’s bow
toward the oncoming gale
They pulled up the slack
within all of the frappings
to bind the ship’s planks
together quite tightly
along with a hope and a wish
and a prayer
that all would hold steady,
straight up, and secure.

The men who were caught
on the deck down below
worked hard with tight grips
upon the oars, so
their circular efforts

pulled with all their strength

would bring the ship to shore

length by length.

But alas, a freak wave

topping all of the rest

rose up like a dragon
and then it did crest
over and above them
to come crashing down

with a terrible force
that did pound
an exacting toll
most awful, and
most dreadful!

It set the ship rolling
to twist and to turn

all the while loosening
the ropes and the chains
Then came a creaking

a flexing of planks
weakening, causing leaking
so then the sailor’s hearts sank

along with their hope
for the accompanying screeches
signalled the integrity of the hull
had been breached, and
as all began to come flying apart

the captain shouted over the din,

“Abandon Ship!”

All sailors leaped over
erratically
to then come swimming back
for a bit of debris

to clamber upon

and to keep afloat

for fear of being lost
with nothing to grope

beneath these seething
frothing waves
to be lost forever
in a watery grave

Or perhaps if the tales
be true
to be gathered
within the arms
of a mermaid, too.

A splash of sea water
washed their faces
bringing them back

to the reality
of this place
where
for many long hours
they did float
hand in hand

upon their make-shift boats
facing each other

to keep up moral
and as they rode opposite
they talked ‘til nightfall
‘til one sighted a ship
by the light of its mast
which made all cheer then
for their rescue
at last!

***********************************

Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall

some of the properties

of a plant,

plus its uses and looks.

If you'd like to hear them

as I am often on the wing,

You may contact me through

this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)

then I'll give you a ring.

***********************************

Shamrock Fit for a King

Call Cleaver, call Marl

Call Clatter Mallock

The King’s rolling in Clover

He found his Shamrock.

Good Fortune, Abundance, oh Prosperity

The King’s rolling in Clover

and laughing with glee.

For two-hundred-thirty days

Year in, year out

He’s combed through the clover

for a four-leafed Shamrock.

Not a doctor or Druid Priest

could draw him away

as he pushed through the cushions

day after day.

We’d thought he had lost it

down there on his shins,

as he plucked at the sugar plums

to suck the nectar within.

We’d thought he had lost it

from his foot to his crown,

were worried he’d suffer

wounds from the ground.

We called his Knight, Flav

who became quite annoyed,

We could tell by his spasms,

complaints of ulcers…

To witness his King in this

undignified way

was not something he expected,

felt it dire, this behavior

end right away.

Call Cleaver, call Marl,

call Clatter Malloch

to pull the king from the Clover

our subjects may talk.

Here they come though, I don’t know

if the king can be restored to good health.

It might quite chronic, need a tonic

or fine healing salve.

(So we asked…)

Can you help, Sirs?

  Yes, we can, Sir…

Well, we’ll give it a try

No pretense, here, it could be severe

We’ll tell not a lie.

But, he’s a symbol, keep it simple

Pretend to be cool

Relax him, bring him back in

the castle to rule.

The soft hairs upon their necks

stood up as they approached the king

as he played bucking bronco

while they coax him in.

Three times they tried together

to bring him away

But he whooped, laughed, fought, and coughed
‘til he got his own way.

So for,

Two-hundred-thirty days

year in, year out

he’s combed through the clover

for a four-leafed Shamrock.

Not a doctor, or a druid priest

could draw him away,

Until perhaps,

this v-e-r-y day!

Call Cleaver, Call Marl

Call Clatter Mallock,

The King’s rolling in Clover,
He found his Shamrock.

***********************************

Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall

some of the properties

of a plant,

plus its uses and looks.

If you'd like to hear them

as I am often on the wing,

You may contact me through

this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)

then I'll give you a ring.

***********************************

On the Wild Side

I’ve been around since the Tollund Man

(That’s 100 BC)

They still know me in Ireland

(and in the Hebrides)

I’ve been through the wars of Europe

(Including World War Two)

Napoleon gave me to his troops

(Within the Bread)

I’ve been given to sheep, pigs and hens

You’re the one who should take me in instead

Though I’m strong, I’m also mild

Pile me up high within a salad,
You can use my leaves, seeds and stems,
Prepare the first just like spinach,

But remember....

***********************************

Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall

some of the properties

of a plant,

plus its uses and looks.

If you'd like to hear them

as I am often on the wing,

You may contact me through

this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)

then I'll give you a ring.

***********************************

Copper Pot of Gold

There is a story

ancient old

about a copper

pot of gold,

tho’ not of the kind

usually sought by man,

but a living kind

that grows freely

upon the land,
whose value really

is quite priceless

and this was known

by a certain pirate

who gripped that pot

till the day he died

with a strength like iron

so that even if we dared

we could not pry it loose

with all our might;

He clutches it still

though all that's left of him

is bones

and perhaps the distant

moans and groans

of what he died of

mysteriously

as he sat at the base

of an old oak tree.

Really, truly

quite quite ponderous

as all about the scene

is an eerie green

like that of phosphorus

and engraved upon the pot

are words,

I believe for all of us

that to continue

to try and rid the world

of this gold

is preposterous

bordering

on

monstrous!

***********************************

Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall

some of the properties

of a plant,

plus its uses and looks.

If you'd like to hear them

as I am often on the wing,

You may contact me through

this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)

then I'll give you a ring.

***********************************

Faerie Lore

 

Lend an ear if you wish to hear

of the Lore about Faeries,

It's in the form of a poem
so I don't go on
too long
for fear of boring you.

Much is true, some poo... poo,

These are words used by others to describe us.

I shouldn't repeat them, should probably delete them
There are some faeries who may make a fuss.

So do keep all under wraps, or perhaps

they may twist and knot your hair,

All the while laughing, maybe even clapping

at your frustration and despair.

Yes, it may come as a surprise, we're not always nice,

In fact can be nasty.

Usually though, we jovial,
even helpful and happy.

One reason though I'll have you know,

we can can feel considerable displeasure,

Is when disrespect and destructiveness
is inflicted upon nature.

That's another story that may make you feel sorry

which is not my purpose today,

So I'll go on with my poem

without further delay.

We can be enormously ugly

Terribly beautiful and,
Awfully mischievous.

We're elusive, capricious, callous, gregarious,

a powerful enchanting muse.

We're keepers of wisdom, do not dismiss us
simply because we don't feel like you do.

We're delicate, tragic, beguiling, magic
and hold witness to you, too.

We're highly emotional, part of the ebb and flow
of cosmic tides and embody sensitivity,

We're inspirational, laughing, joyful

and are attracted to creativity.

We're creatures of raw stuff, simply adore those
to love to dance and sing,

We can glide over water, and are part of

invisible aspects within the world's workings.

You may see us glittering, twinkling, in flight
upon gossamer wings,

Hear a peal of bells, see us dancing in circles

to harps, reed whistles, tambourines.

We come from over the horizon, upon a misty island,

We live in the rocks, hills, trees,

even beneath your feet in the dirt.

We try to remind you of your connections

with each other and the earth.

We have many names

that have come over time

from numerous different places.

Like Ghillie Dhee, Gwaragedd Annwn (Gawrageth Anoon)

Killmoulis and Black Annis.

There are Pixies and Shee

Kobolds, Selkie,

Goblins, Spriggins, and Glaistig.

I think you’ll know

of Bogies and Dwarfs

maybe even the Will o’ Wisp.

Surely the Lepichaun,

perhaps the Browinie,

but there will be others
that are unfamiliar.

Like the Booka, Cluricaun, Coblynau,

(Ben-nee-yeh) Bean-nighe

and Knockers.

Hear of the Nuckelavee, (Leanan-Shee)Leanan-Sidhe

Puck, Redcap, and Urisk

There's the Alp-Luachra, Fenoderee

as a list, I think that’s it.

I’ll tell you a bit more

about one, two, three…

maybe four,

if you’re willing to listen…

Then, I will begin... 

********************

If you wish to hear more of this lore,

then do email me at the address below...

lovellsimonsjanet(at)yahoo(dot)ca

In the Groove, and Totally HOT!

From Hairy to Smooth

I’m in with the Groove,

Truly, I’m Hot

Tho’ some like me not.

They think that I’m square

When really I’m round

From black to white

I will pound

a punch of flavour

in many a dish,

I’m good with eggs, cheese, meat

soup, salad, fish.

Pound me back

when I’ve gone to seed,

Call me Mustard,

don’t call me weed,

As I can be useful

and good for you,

Grind me into flour,

add me to stew.

I’m fast growing,

all over the land

in almost every Province,

ditch, field, culvert,
wasteland.

I’ve many relations

some you might know quite well,

Cabbage, Radish, Turnip;

Rutubaga, and Kale…

There’s another I’ll mention

tho’ it might make you pout...

********************
Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall some of the properties,
also the plant's characteristics and looks.

If you'd like to hear them
as I am often on the wing,
You may contact me through
this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)
then I'll give you a ring.

***********************************

Velveteen Cloak

She wore a chocolate colored velveteen cloak

with soft warm down for the lining,

A chill wind plucked at her fine silk hair

into a dance, swirling, flying.

Over 300,000 stars burst forth

to join in this dance with the wind,

Seeds, really trying to catch a ride

for new life in distant lands.

Paul Typha stood tall, silent and still

remembering Latilia Folie,

This image impressed upon his mind

as it would for all eternity.

She said she’d be back

come next Spring

by the water

where they first met.

She pressed to him

with her love weaved in,

a doll lest he forget.

She need not fear, he held it dear,

His love would last forever,

He’d never dream, or be so green

as to fall for the charms of another.

Not even the one

who while quite young

resembled his tender sweetheart,

And tho’ now vivacious, bold and flirtatious,

To Latilia, he’d given his heart.

Even if he were free, he’d let her be

as much was told of her boldness,

To take her in might be medicine,

but it also could be poisonous.

This sent a chill through him until

he felt like his blood was congealing.

To rekindle warmth, he thought in due course

of his soft and sweet Lotilia.

Right from the start
She warmed his heart

He knew they’d be together,

She thought of him through thick and thin

He’d stand over and protect her.

Though she departed she knew in her heart,
he would be back come Spring

with the birds singing, collecting and bringing

soft down for their nests, within.

This got her thinking, she too would be bringing

home a fine collection...

... to be continued at an event
yours or mine,
give me a call
to find the time!

********************
Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall some of the properties,
also the plant's characteristics and looks.

If you'd like to hear them
as I am often on the wing,
You may contact me through
this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)
then I'll give you a ring.

Calling on the Dazzles

 Golden Yellow Sunbeams
were the dresses that they wore
when the Sharp-Toothed Lion
came knocking at the door.

You see he wasn't feeling right,
What it was he couldn't say,
It began early in the morning
between 6 and 7 that very day.

He'd heard these Dazzling Beauties,
the faeries of the hill
could help to ease his troubled tum
without the use of pills.

He saw them floating downwards,
their wings tucked in for now
as they had their parachutes
to help them to the ground.

He put away his sharp teeth

  tucked his claws in, too

as when seeking faerie help

  this is the polite and proper thing to do.

They gave him tender young leaves

  older, tougher, too

The young ones in a salad

  the older in a stew.

Of the roots,

They dried, pounded, powdered

  boiled, sliced and fried

Some he took internally

  a little applied outside.

Though he didn’t care for sliced roots

  boiled, fried or raw,

He didn’t mind the tonic tea

  It wasn’t bad at all.

Soon he felt his appetite

  coming back quite swell

so he thanked the Dazzles very much

  and left a gift as well.

The faerie clock closed up her arms

  as now the day was late

The lion bounded out the door

  As the faeries closed the gate.



********************

Within the writing of this poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall some of the properties,
also the plant's characteristics and looks.

If you'd like to hear them
as I am often on the wing,
You may contact me through
this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)
then I'll give you a ring.

The Perfect Flower

Many, many long years ago, in Ireland (or so I’m told)

Queen Aine was to have a party
for fabulous fine guests, all of the best
dressed in gowns and attired smartly.

She invited first-rate famous elves
from within the entire land,
She also chose the finest of Faeries
This affair was to be quite grand.

“Oh do come,” she bid them from
the gold-edged invitation,
“You’ll enjoy the food
and the music will be good.
It will be a most memorable occasion.

The castle’s dressed in all our best
from gate to highest tower,
with ribbons, frills, tinkling bells,
and every kind of flower.

So naturally with the castle dressed
and with everything looking at its best,
the Queen thought of her wardrobe.

She needed something new
extravagantly so
she called forth for her Faeries,

and commanded they find
the best flowers in time
and to bring them for her inspection,
So faeries flew for flowers and perfume
in every possible direction.

Upon their return, the Queen did learn
they had successfully completed their mission
as they laid at her feet, in rows quite neat,
the finest of their collection.

Upon viewing the faeries flower collection,
the Queen became indecisive,
With so many to choose from
it was hard to pick just one,
The solution was elusive.




(listen to this poem)

                 

Apple Blossom so white
was a beautiful sight
and deserved the Queen's affection,

but it didn’t at all,
in fact made her stall
as she feared
it would wash out her
rosie complexion.

Daffodil and Crocus,
a lovely focus
as their color
is never a bore,
would’ve won the Queen over
along with the Clover,
but they had used these flowers

before...



She picked up the Tulips,

Tansies and Lillies,
her favourites everyone guesses,

but she already owned
had fashioned and sewn
these into every one of her dresses.

Now with these flowers eliminated
the Queen became frustrated,
and so she looked to the Poppy;
though brilliantly red
it appeared to her dead
as the leaves drooped down
rather sloppily.

Now feeling quite miffed
she gave Dandelion a sniff
and was filled with a lovely elation,
and her eyes were now locked
upon a Forget-Me-Not

and so she gave it considerable
deliberation,
Until her eyes did roam
upon a lovely rose,

but she knew this was far too popular,
and though she fancied the Pansy
she began to feel antsy

as by now
she wasn't at all sure.

She gathered up a Thistle,
got jabbed by a prickle

and felt like she really
might cry,
when she spotted
the Pink
and began to think,

"Why not give this flower a try!"...

... [to be continued at an event,
yours or mine will be quite fine.]


***************************

Within the writing of many of my poetry
are hints that act as memory hooks
to help one to recall
some of the properties
of a plant,
plus its uses and looks.

If you'd like to hear them
as I am often on the wing,
You may contact me through
this address ( lovellsimonsjanet_at_yahoo.ca)
then I'll give you a ring.

The above particular story
was actually made to be a game
for children to run, laugh and play
as they learn of
various flower's names.

********************