Of Fairies and Weed Whackers

THE DAFFODIL FAIRIES

Fairies, I told my wife, 
fairies braided the daffodils 
in front of the porch last night. 
I can't wait to show the kids; 
won't they think it grand? 

Not fairies, she said. 
I braided the leaves 
so your friend Paul 
won't chop down the daffodils 
the way he chops down 
everything else around here. 
He's a madman with 
that weed whacker, 
doesn't know a daffodil 
from a dandelion. 

Fairies, I tell her again. 
They won't believe everything 
we tell them forever, you know. 
They're getting older now.

Fine, she relented, 
tell them it was fairies. 
But make sure your friend 
stays away from my daffodils. 
The daffodils really are braided
so Paul won’t chop them down.

Poem Notes: This poem evolved from a conversation with my wife about our daffodils, proof that poems often spring from the simplest of inspirations. I admit to attempting to evoke one of my favorite Robert Frost poems here, The Death of the Hired Man, with Paul as Silas, my wife as Mary, and yours truly as Warren. In my poem, however, the temperaments of Mary and Warren are reversed. Paul is a real person I occasionally hire to help around our yard.

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A New Poem Every Monday!

Joseph Neely, all rights reserved.

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