Fiddleeebod

“Oh, no! They’re going to pick us! I knew it! I knew it! Oh no!” trumpeted a daffodil sprouted near the edge of a meadow positively yellow with daffodil blooms.
“Who cares?” sniffed a neighboring daffodil, head held high while the meadow all around swayed in floral panic. “Get picked. Don’t get picked. It’s all the same.”
The collectors swept in with baskets, and soon the meadow was nearly empty and the baskets nearly full. The bride-to-be’s mother bent down to snip the last stem, but was stopped by her daughter’s plea.
“Oh, Mummy, we have enough. Let’s leave one,” said the blue-eyed maiden, glowing with joy.
The mother smiled a gentle smile and put away her razor-sharp clippers. The collectors gathered together and moved off, chatting and laughing. The meadow with its single standing daffodil was abandoned.
“Who cares?” sniffed the daffodil, head held high.

Moral: A carefree flower often survives, especially if it is a daffodil.

Filed under:
General, Stories by Steve