Tulips For You

I had, for reasons of expediency done all my chores, took out the files to weed old wisdom and the silverfish out of my life, it had been overdue. Thus, time ran out and slammed the hollow door, taking all pens and pencils, every one I, in my youthful drive to clean the slate had shredded all remaining paper. It was done. The poem I was set to write for you, it must wait for another time, perhaps you're fine to wait? Meanwhile may I present a little treat today: One hundred hectares, yes, a sea of tulip kisses, guarded by windmills and a dike not made from clay. You'll get to meet Hans Brinker, all in stone and see the fossil of his clever finger bone. And while you count in Dutch the tulips in the sea, I'll write a lovely limerick for you, from little me.