You want to know the worst thing that
can happen to a flower? I know what it is,
can you guess? I’ll tell you what it is.
Take away a flower’s song, stop her
singing; take away a flower’s dance
stop her dancing. You want to know
why that’s the worst thing that can happen?
Because what’s left? Sittin’ in a flowerpot
out on the window ledge enjoying the sun
waiting to drop on some poor schmuck’s
head, that’s what. What kind of joke is that?
Do you know what dropping four stories
does to your roots? Or maybe you get a
close-up while some hairy stinky animal
snorts your fragrance like it’s dimestore
perfume, dragging at all your petals in a
lewd and troubling fashion, and if you say
anything, if you say that’s not family
humour, then try to get a job the next time.
You want to know what happens after
you take away a flower’s song and dance?
I’ll tell you what: degradation. And no amount
of fertilizer can cover the smell of that.
(Ms. Susan first appeared in Silly Symphony Flowers and Trees, 1932, GG)