One morning felt tiresome and tepid,
and suddenly, I felt intrepid.
Saucily I stepped outside,
nothing could spoil my stride.
I found a tulip in a patch of green,
its crisp petals shimmered a clinquant sheen.
They are finely woven with golden thread.
They look like awnings for a fairy bed.
I wonder what sentient sweetheart would sleep there,
perhaps a fairy with a frilly sort of air.
She could be called miss Taffy Toole,
but others call her Frumpy Fool.
I feel horrified they inflict her such harm,
especially with her frothy sort of charm.
While she effulges like bejewelled buttons,
her bullies holler like bow wow muttons.
The petals might resemble fairy wings,
while they are fluttering in wispy winds.
Inside hides clusters of black seeds,
they shimmer like metallic beads.
A reed sways over with gilded fronds,
it bewitches me like fairy wands.
Or it could be an anemone,
which Toole uses to sweep her chimney.
After singing for this tiny tulip
I will sip a jolly good mint julep