Yesterday I posted a sad poem on here and promised I’d follow up with a much cheerier one. So here you go – and I do apologise for its silliness but I just can’t help my imagination!
The Rogue Rose
The flowers all gathered in colourful style
to witness a ground-breaking fairy-tale trial.
The pansies, the snow-drops, the big and the small;
all wanting to see how the mighty do fall.
“Now listen you all”, came the voice of the Judge.
(a yellow horned poppy who’d come with a grudge)
“I know you’re all angry and I’m angry too.
We need to decide what we’re going to do.
The problem is reaching preposterous scale,
so let me begin and let justice prevail.
So settle down all and we’ll try to expose
the crimes of defendant, the thorny red Rose.”
The poppies, the tulips and snowdrops all booed,
which seemed to add fuel to the festering mood.
The big bunch of daisies who’d come in a chain
began to get restless and shout and complain.
The Judge called the court to an orderly state.
“His crimes will ensure that the law seals his fate.
His circle of lies will now soon be disrupted,
as we prove the Rose is a flower corrupted.
We’ve long since suspected he’s been undercover.
It’s taken this long for us all to discover.
But now on our evidence you can all feast,
contained in the story of Beauty and Beast.
We’re fed up with seeing the Rose as the star;
each fairy tale seems to prefer him by far.
You don’t hear of gardens of pansies or flock,
or heather, or tulips or white lily stock.
You don’t hear of mouths that are marigold shapes,
or buttercups thrown when a princess awakes.
It’s always the Rose in a bunch or just scattered,
or rosebuds for lips where a kiss really mattered.
But now in the story of beautiful Belle,
at last we’ve found someone quite willing to tell.
The Rose has been seen bribing writers galore
to make him the star of the story once more.
Again there’s a Rose in the core of the story,
who robs all us blooms of our moment of glory.
He takes centre stage and it’s really not fair,
as one of us flowers should really be there.
Now Belle could have asked for her father to bring
a tulip or bluebell that blooms in the Spring,
a beautiful pansy or marigold bloom,
a bunch of white freesias to perfume her room.
Because of those bribes, it was him who they chose;
that crooked, dishonest, despicable Rose!
But now let us say that we’ll take this no more.
We’ll shun his false sweetness, his kin we’ll ignore!”
Now everyone cheered for the wonderful judge.
(that yellow horned poppy who’d come with a grudge)
“The Rose is no more,” came a shout from the crowd.
“We’ll now be acknowledged – let’s stand tall and proud.”
So off went the Rose to his garden of hell,
no longer required by the beautiful Belle.
The flowers would now have a wonderful chance
to replace the rogue Rose as the bloom of romance!