BEASTLY TALES - GREEN THUMB

in #art6 years ago

Welcome to Beastly Tales. Each has a message, a moral. All are meant to have an element of humour. Naturally, any names included do not depict real folk but are included as part of the joke.

All rights reserved.
(As with Beastly Banter Beastly Tales is written and illustrated by Richard Hersel.)

Thank you for your following.
Richard Hersel


BEASTLY TALES

GREEN THUMB

Benny Bouquet was a gardener, a rare breed,
Always out there, broadcasting his seed.
To just anywhere he thought there to be need.
Consequently, there did come to be, indeed.
A veritable English country garden, all around the village,
As Bouquet did continue to woo, steal and pillage.
In consequence to his horticultural pursuits,
He sired many daughters from varied stem-shoots.
A bevy of offspring, speaking botanically,
As a result of his mannerisms so fancy free.

There was Daffodil, Hippeastrum and Hollyhock too,
Each as pretty as a tall Agapanthus blue.
Yes, Agapanthus was yet another,
Although he wasn’t sure who was her mother.
Buttercup radiant with her yellow hue,
Yet another beauty in Bouquet’s Who’s who.
By no means last, and by no means least,
Frangipani, her scent, an olfactory feast.

Delphinium, Kalanchoe, Hyacinth as well,
Each emitting a fine bouquet smell.
Dorotheansis, Hellebore and Geranium,
So many names, to fit in one’s cranium.
Chrysanthemum, Bouquet did remember her mum.
She reminded him of his other girl, Lilium.
Digitalis, Laburnum and aromatic Jasmine,
We’ve gone through this “ad hoc” list we did combine,
Rather faster than warranted, to be sure,
Which is a shame, for each has their own allure.
Seventeen differing, individual triumphs,
All of them delectable, not even any frumps.

Such a state of affairs could have gone on for longer,
But Benny Bouquet pushed his luck, his behaviour much wronger.
Until he was, by a cuckold, called to account,
This outraged citizen fill Bouquet’s lunch box with manure, quite an amount.
And then insisted he polish off the lot!
After that, Benny Bouquet just lost the plot!

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Poor Bouquet, (a name, a guarantee) his ideal of beauty, thief, was not understood. A lot of manure on the world!

The name of this Caste in my city is Frangipane Hi Richard

Hello Armando, good to hear from you. Thank you for your nice comment.

Wow...
. Very cool drawing.my cute friend

I love this poem, I don't know how you managed to come up with all those flowering names and make them rhyme, so clever!