HOW TO TAME YOUR TULIPS

I used to be a little wary of tulips,

Standing so rigidly in plastic buckets.

They seemed so prim and proper,

Lips tightly clenched

Like disdainful Dutch spinsters in period dramas,

Tutting as they eyed potential buyers,

Whispering, “Seriously, I don't think so!”

But in Dutch of course,

Which sounds absolutely terrifying.

Yet I’ve come to enjoy the company

Of these stick-in-the-muds

Who become gorgeous giddy gigglers

When I bring them home in multiple bunches

And mix them among each other,

Throwing them their own multicoloured cocktail party.

Despite initially claiming they’ll only have a little sip,

These damsels always manage to get

Thoroughly sozzled,

And never say no to a little top-up

During the after-party.

And then there’s the mad singleton,

Springing solo in the middle of the lawn.

Usually, she’s a redhead with a bad colourist

And wanton manners,

Bound to soon be

Opening up wide,

Displaying her yellow knickers,

Eager to make sexy-time with the bees.

She invariably gets plucked,

Then kept in solitary confinement

In an ugly skinny vase by the kitchen tap,

Where she eyes me furiously,

Swearing in Dutch,

While still taunting the bees

Who find the cheerful smiles

Of a thousand dandelions

Far more charming.