Flower power erupted in the gardens of Hicklegate,
when an old African lady visited the town’s beautiful parks,
and put a magical ingredient on the roots of its budding plants.

She’d obtained it from a mixture of Lesothian beetle droppings,
topping it off with a coating from some Congolese ants.

But former Royal Naval midshipman, Percy Picklethwaite,
smelt a familiar odour, that reminded him of service overseas,
in particular, a war-ravaged, jungly land.

Then, hands a-trembling, he noticed a huge bee,
hovering over a rose, its proboscis ready to spear him.

But the stinger veered off, making a buzzing note he
managed to play on his cornet,
for he was a leading member of the town's brass band.

In that capacity he invited an old African lady,
formerly of the British colony of Rhodesia,
whom he’d met that day on a walk in the park,
to accompany them at their next concert.

For she’d undoubtedly saved him from a deadly sting,
after saying to the hovering buzzer,
‘You’re only an African killing bee for a fleeting second,
and Percy never hurt the people of Africa.’

‘So please be about your business of pollination,
the flowers are thirsty for your attention, on this sunny day.’

That night she sang a ballad about forgiveness,
then the cornet man remembered how he’d
met this old woman - when as a young man he'd 
reached from a lifeboat to save her from the sea.

The band struck up, as its guest singer sang
Flowers Of The Forest,
a song Percy had taught her many years before,
as she recovered on the deck of His Majesty’s Ship Belfast.

The old sailor burst into tears, as the audience cheered,
for a lady who’d put a spell on a Yorkshire park’s budding flowers,
and the two old ones rolled back the years.