Spanish Bluebell

Senor, you have mistakenly
Uprooted me from the cork tree shade
My love, Ferdinand, he waits for me
He’ll come charging in an angry tirade
So I demand, at once, you free me
From this café window box
I’m crowded here with thistle thorns
And tails of silver fox
My blood runs hot, it’s Spanish Blue
Bell my given name
But you can call me Campana
Like they do back home in Spain
Now bid me adios
Before Ferdinand starts seeing red
You don’t want him in this china shop
With his big horned stubborn head
He’s really quite a tender dear
No picador can get his goat
But when he finds me planted here
He’ll gore your tender throat
He’s waiting now so set me free
He’ll smell my fragrant pull
Ferdinand, my love, he’ll come for me
And he don’t take no bull

It’s Day 8 of the National Poetry Writing Month. Here is today’s prompt: It’s Friday, and writing poems isn’t easy! So let’s give ourselves a break with a simple prompt today. Poets have been writing about flowers since, oh, the dawn of time. So today, I challenge you to add your own poem to this long tradition, by finding a flower, and versifying in its honor.

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