Suzanna

“Oh whatte beautiful morninggggg”, sang the sunflower.
“Ignore him”, said the geranium to the grasshopper, “he thinks the son rises everywhere he turns.”
“Oh, ok.”
Silence.
“What’s the son?” asked the grasshopper.
“Oh, see that bright golden plate up there? That’s it. The son.”
“Whose son?”
“The store-owner’s?”
“Ahhh. Ok. Now it all makes sense. That’s why the son comes out when the store is open, right?”
“Korekto”, said the geranium.



(On a sunflower pot at the Ambara plant nursery)