Mum’s the word on my bargain blooms

I wanted to buy you a special bouquet To make you smile on Mother’s Day. I asked the florist for the best, And thus she dealt with my request: Beguiling me for many hours, She never mentioned common flowers But talked of strange exotic blooms, Silky, born of fairies’ looms! Ethereal shades I never knew: Fine, shimmering gold; celestial blue. Wondrous hues with mystical powers, Sent to Earth in rainbow showers. Gossamer delicate, feathery plumes,

Grown by angels in heavenly rooms In scents that could only have come from above, Meant to intoxicate; perfumed with love. In hindsight, the florist knew how to enthral,

I cried out, delighted: ‘I’ll take them all!’ I remember how quickly she gave me the bill, Her grasping hands ready to open the till. A greedy glint shone from her beady green eye, Then I saw to my shock that the price was sky high. My credit card started to scream out in pain: ‘Oh! Please, master! Don’t bleed me that dry again! ‘Let’s go somewhere cheaper or I’ll swear and shout! Oh! Don’t you be conned by this devious old trout!’ So, shame-faced, so mortified, what could I do? I bought you this BOGOF, two quid, B&Q.