My grandson Lucian, yesterday, making his garden, now in his second year at UNI, still has a love for plants.
When he was this age I wrote a story for him."Miss Flora's Garden."
Miss Flora's Garden.
On miss Flora Potter's roof
Her green thumbs showing all the proof,
Row upon row
Pots full of fancy flowers grow.
Calendula and Mariegold,
Sunflowers huge, yellow and bold,
Babiesbreath as soft as silk
Anemones like buttermilk.
One early morning again on the move,
Miss Flora Potter went up on her roof,
One heard her gasp, her eyes were wide,
Gone were her flowers her joy and pride.
Miss Flora was puzzled, in shock,
Who took away my hollyhock?
She cried and lamented was very distressed,
What should she do, who could have guessed?
She climbed down the ladder
Grabbed her hat with the feather,
A blouse with red polka dots
and a flowery skirt with forgetmenots.
So attired she strode out in a hurry
Her whole being in such a flurry,
To the empty pots a quick last glance,
With a glimmer of hope, she saw a chance.*
Her destination for today,
The police station not far away,
Behind the desk friendly and kind
The police man mister Mc'Bride.
Mister McBride had a lot to do,
He asked Miss Flora how can I help you?
She told her story quick and alert,
The flowers are gone but no one was hurt.
Mister McBride made not much of a fuss,
He listened intently like he must,
He took Miss Flora by her hand
Went back to her house where it all began.
It was short and quick a hike
On Mister McBride's motorbike.
Actually it was just a skip
She would have enjoyed a longer trip.
He took out his glasses, his notebook, his pen
and asked MissFlora how was it again?
A serious look on his kindly face,
Writing down quickly the facts of this case.*
*
Here they were blooming in splendour,
The petals so soft and tender,
White, yellow, red and pink
And when you looked closely the daisy's would wink.
The flower contest is on now,
I haven't any blooms to show,
It makes me so dreadful sad
I am upset really bad.
Miss Flora please don't upset yourself with grief,
I will find the flower thief.
He looked close at his notes and said with a grin,
I know now exactly where to begin.
See, Miss Flora I found a clue,
The imprint of a little shoe
I'll trace it further in a hurry
so you must not longer worry.
Mister McBride drove away very neat,
Miss Flora on the pillion seat,
They followed the road where children go
It leads to the school, where they are now.*
*
The children neat and tidy,
In front stands little Heidi,
Singing with voices clear and nice
Happy Birthday, dear teacher, Miss Price.
Mister McBride knocks on the door,
The children stop singing what is this for?
Miss Flora, startled, still,
There they are on the window sill.
Her flowers blooming in splendour
The petals so soft and tender,
Her eyes with tears they blink,
She barley sees the daisy's wink.
Calendula and Mariegold,
Sunflowers huge, yellow and bold,
Love in mist, and agog,
Here is too her hollyhock.
Look and search picture....Silky Oaktree, Grevillia robusta hiding a yellow crested Cockatoo.
*
Children please hold your chatter,
What is all this, what is the matter?
The flowers are the cause of this
Cry the twins Meg and Liz.
Mister McBride's face very grave,
Children why don't you behave?
Who took the flowers? Be quiet Bill!
And placed them on the window sill.
This beautiful Dichorsanda thyrisiflora is easely propagated from stem cuttings.
Mexican sage, Salvia leucantha, easy to grow, flowers for month, it's a great plant to have in a mixed border.
*
The children now quiet and red in the face,
Knew they did something out of place.
Kate Miller held up her hand, twice,
It was for your birthday Miss Price.
You all will be punished said Mister McBride,
His eyeballs rolling his mouth set wide.
Miss Flora felt sorry, don't be to severe,
The plight of the children was weighing on her.
I have a thought, the school ground is bare,
I want you to plant many flowers there.
The children worked hard and hoed a lot,
They planted , watered and weeded the plot.
They are under Miss Floras command,
Their green thumbs are much in demand
Row upon Row
The most wonderful flowers grow.
CopyRight T.S.
Now I am happy I had my little whimsey, comes the serious stuff! Mulch...
Loads of it for the garden beds.
Believe it or not: A gardener's work is never at an end. John Evelyn 1620-1706 from Kalendarium Hortense.
2 comments:
Lucian is very lucky to have you in his life. A lovely post.
Trudi,
I find this simple little story for your little boy very touching. Both the gesture and the rhyme itself I mean.
Its certainly worthwhile exploring working with an illustrator and turning it into a book....my 2 cents.
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