Bright crimson holly berries beam
Under the emerald holly leaves
Blood drops from the pricked fairy feet
Swinging from the branches’ seams
A crowd of flowers pale-pink
Around a puff of golden yellow
Inviting bees and birds all around
A delicate, dreamy sight so mellow
The flowers so many it seemed from afar
The holly bush covered all in pink
But very few berries I see at last
Where go these berries? I think
I asked the birds why this was so
They told me with a thoughtful sigh
Not all the flowers turn into berries
Few for the taste but many for the eye