In the land of Weehoffen, where billy goats fly,
On a mountain that rises so high in the sky
That the clouds all get winded halfway to the top
Grew a sunflower field – a splendiferous crop,
For these sunflowers looked like no others you’ve seen—
Not the boring old six-foot-tall yellow routine,
But real sunflowers—blossoms
of actual suns,
Whose petals were rainbow-striped flame-spitting ones!
The Weehoffian creatures would flock to the mount.
They would line up in multiples too large to count
For the chance to perhaps hitch a ride on a goat
Who would carry them up to the top where they’d dote
on those glorious flowers; they’d faint and they’d swoon.
When they finally went home at three midnights past noon
They’d stay happy for weeks, maybe months, maybe years!
For the sunflowers’ song left no room for sad tears.
Now I haven’t said this but you might have inferred it:
Their song was unique for each creature that heard it--
For some lilting whispers, for some great loud screams,
But for each of them always, the song of their dreams.
The flow’rs were so bright that when each day was through
They had to be covered – and carefully, too –
So the people in town miles and miles down below
Weren’t kept up all night long by their sunshiny glow.
And who did the covering? Why, it was said
That the sunflower tending was all done by Fred,
Fred the unicorn who, since the day they were sown
Watched over those flowers like they were his own.
He had named every one as a seedling, and knew
At what temperature each little blossom best grew.
He spoke to them sweetly, with kind, loving care
and wore sunglasses daily to keep out the glare.
And though Fred loved the flowers and tried to protect them
He knew they weren’t his, and he had to respect them.
When a bloom now and then saw a sad girl or boy
and decided to give some more permanent joy,
that bloom would jump out of its place in the dirt
straight into the arms of the child that hurt.
They’d go home together, the child and the flow’r
and dear Fred would watch smiling, not sullen or sour.
For flowers, like people, belong to themselves.
All unicorns know this, and so do all elves.
But unfortunately many creatures do not,
And that is the problem that thickens this plot.
One day from the town a new visitor came,
A clever young fox – Rusty Boltz was his name.
From his den in the valley this fox had been scheming
To take for himself all the blossoms’ bright beaming.
He wrote up a contract and put on a suit.
He hijacked a billy goat from a small Schrute.
Then he came to the top with his contract unfurled
And marched right up to Fred like the king of the world.
“Mister Unicorn Sir!” the sly foxy fox bellowed,
“I hear you’re a smart and quite reasonable fellow,
So I’ve come here today with an offer for you
That will buy you vacation forever – it’s true!
“You see, my fine gent, if I may call you that,
It’s high time you let somebody else up to bat.
You’ve been slaving away for these flowers for ages.
I’m here to relieve you! See here in these pages
“I’ve laid out a bargain you won’t want to miss.
For twenty-six hay bales – now sir, don’t dismiss –
I’ll take all these sunflowers off of your hands.
You’ll be free to adventure in faraway lands!
“Free to live with your great unicornian zeal!
Now tell me dear sir, do we two have a deal?”
The fox raised his eyebrows all bushy and red,
But he got just a smile and a shake from old Fred.
“They aren’t mine for the giving,” Fred calmly declared.
“And although these dear sunflowers like to be shared
They’d say no. For you see, they’ve been singing to you
But you haven’t once noticed, and now they’re all through.
“I believe when they choose their new friends, they prefer
To pick creatures who listen and love, good monsieur.
While I’m sure you’re quite wonderful – no disrespect --
You just don’t seem their type,” said dear Fred (quite correct).
But that Rusty red fox had heard only one thing:
That the sunflower field had no owner! Ka-ching!
He could take it all over! He’d sell every bloom
For a fortune! He’d have his own moneying room!
He’d be rich! And the singular thing in his way
Was this unicorn sap. Well he’d fix that today!
Rusty Boltz started yelling. He screamed and he spat.
He threatened and howled like a crazed alley cat.
He chased Fred away. Then he straightened his vest,
He turned to the flowers and puffed out his chest
And announced, “You’re all mine now, and I don’t play nice!
Now which of you flowers will bring the best price?”
As he walked the rows greedily rubbing his hands,
Rusty Boltz began shouting and barking commands.
He started to prod with a shining sharp hook
And the flowers were frightened; they shivered and shook.
Then they looked down the path that led off through the
clouds
And saw Fred watching quietly, kindly and proud.
For Fred knew – he had faith – that those sunflowers would
Be themselves – free themselves – if they trusted they
could.
The flowers took courage; their flames began bright’ning,
Their petals shot rainbow-striped sunflower lightning!
They glowered at Rusty, who turned tail and ran
Just as fast as a devious fox-in-suit can.
And they lived ever after way up in the blue,
The flowers of sun and the unicorn, who
Simply loved them, with love that’s not greedy, but free.
They belonged to themselves, just like you and like me.
