In a vibrant garden buzzing with life, a little petal named Poppy had dreams larger than her delicate self. While the other petals basked in their colors, Poppy longed to turn the world around them into a magnificent painting.
“Wouldn’t it be joyful to splash the skies with pinks and the ground with yellows?” she often mused. But alas, no flower in the garden understood her colorful dreams.
One bright morning, Poppy noticed a small cloud drifting across the blue sky. She waved and smiled, “Hello, fluffy cloud! Care to join us for a sunshine party?”
The cloud frowned and grumbled, “Oh, I’m too gloomy for that. I’d better bring some rain.”
“Rain? Rain is a chorus!” squealed Poppy. “Come dance with us!”
But the cloud merely sighed, “You’ll see.” And with that, it turned itself grey.
Poppy stared at the cloud, confused. Moments later, it began to rain, its droplets plummeting down like a thousand little arrows. All the flowers shrank away, afraid of the cloud’s cruel intentions. Poppy stared at her friends as they were washed clean of their colors.
“But you’re just a cloud, nothing but a passing thing!” she called up defiantly. “You cannot color my dreams away!”
The cloud snorted in rage, and as Poppy laughed at him—for, dear children, our little petal had a brave heart—the rain poured even harder. Soon they all began to tremble and cry.
As the rain beat down, tiny droplets fell into Poppy’s cup-like head, making her feel heavier and heavier. Just then, the old bee, Bumble, buzzed up and looked sternly into her face.
“Dear Poppy, this is serious!”
With tears in her voice, Poppy pleaded, “Oh dear Bumble, you must help us! We simply cannot let this old cloud carry all the colors away to his own dark home!”
Bumble turned toward the other flowers. “We must drive away this tired old brute, children! A lovely summer sky without drifting shades, a world without vivid colors—what would it be?
Gather around, fair flowers, with no tears in your eyes. Poppy, the bravest little petal of them all, wants to sprinkle the world with delight; let us try to help her.”
Bumble then flew across the garden, collecting all the blue, gold, and purple violets. As he did, small bare branches began to lean towards meeting over Poppy’s head. “Hold on tight!” shouted Bumble. “And then skedaddle like a cricket!”
The black heavy drops did what they could to break up the flowers; but these seemed to rejoice and came marching over towards Poppy, while the rain fell less, and the grey cloud turned dark and black.
Now, flowers and children, picture a quick panorama of the most beautiful rainbow that can ever be!
Over sang the sun and the swarm of petals like an inkblot across the sky and fell to the ground, while lost in the rush of color an old sceptical poppy, running out from under its leaf and hair, began singing praises too, for wonder of wonders, the hue of it came back to him!
And the helping hand of all the fairest flowers shone like a pearl in the sun. The little cloud was glad to no end. He smiled, most cheerfully—oh, how cheerful! And then went drifting on. The end.