November 5, 2009

The Carefree Daffodil

“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 daffodil nearby, head held high while the meadow all around swayed in floral panic.

The collectors swept in with baskets, and soon the meadow was nearly empty and the baskets nearly full. The parson’s wife 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 little blue-eyed wench, golden curls bobbing, pink cheeks glowing.

The parson’s wife smiled 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, held held high.

Moral: A carefree flower often survives.

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