This Poem was Submitted By: Mark D. Kilburn On Date: 2001-12-08 13:21:33 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Fairie Slippers and Snapdragons

                                   Gather round me children               for a story I will tell               about a magic kingdom               a place I know so well;                where Kings Crowns are crimson               and Queens Crowns are pink;               the Little Red Elephants               all ask for a drink.               Sky Pilots and Kittentails               the Old-Man-of-the-Mount,               beauty no botanist               could possibly count.               The Fairies wear Slippers               the Pussies have Toes;               a place where all humans               give thanks for their nose.                              The Bishop wears a Cap               and Monks have a Hood;               Butter and Eggs are beautiful                but don’t taste very good.               The Daisies give you Whiplash               Scorpion Weed won’t sting,               Spiderwort is web-less               and Perky Sue won’t sing.               This Morning’s in it’s Glory               see the Bunny in the Grass               bathed with Dainty Sundrops;               can you smell Sassafras?               The Prince’s Plume is yellow,               Jacob’s Ladder blue as  sky               or maybe more the color               of a newborn baby’s eye.               The Shepherd’s Purse is empty               as the Desert Trumpet blows;               despite the heat of summer sun               Snow-on-the-Mountain grows.               The Smartweed cannot tell you               of the Snowballs in July,               of Buttercups and Sugarbowls               or the oxen’s Goldeneye.               Penny Cress is boastful               of her golden Mistletoes,               she sneezes when the Pepperweed               gets caught inside her nose.               The Whiskbroom does no sweeping               near the Blanket Flower’s bed,               the Houndstooth cannot bite or                hear a single word we’ve said.               Sweet Pea’s are really sour               but it means that water’s near;               Wolf  Willow cannot harm us,               no need for you to fear.               Blue Eyed Mary is crying,               Black Eyed Susan’s sad,               neither caught the Bridal Wreath               which made Mockheather glad.               The Duckweed isn’t flying               Nodding Onions all agree;               Mule Ears cannot hear               that crazy Loco-Weed.               Virginia has it’s Creepers                and Arkansas it’s Rose                                          but New Jersey Tea               is the one for me, as it               warms me to my toes.               It must be time for us to leave               the sun is going down               the yellow evening star is out,               Shooting Stars are on the ground.               Owl clover is waking up               way past Showy four-o'clock;               Beggars Tick and Sleepyheads               are all too tired to talk.               Now you know just where to go               and find so many friends,               its where my forest meets your trees               and that’s just around the bend.                                        

Copyright © December 2001 Mark D. Kilburn


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