The Gnidia

A day ago, last Sunday, I was strolling in the fynbos,
When I met a dog who thought he knew the lot.
He was laying down the law about the habits of proteas,
And the number of anthers a watsonia has got.
So I asked him, "What's that flower there?".
He answered, "Oh, it's a struthiola".

I might have gone on thinking that was true.
If the flower in question hadn't put that dog to shame,
And remarked, "I ain't a struthiola. I'm a g-nidia".

"I'm a g-nidia,
I'm a g-nidia,
The g-nicest work of g-nature in the veld.
I'm a g-nidia,

How are ya?
You should g-now just what is growing in the green belt."

"I'm a g-nidia, spelt G-N-I-D-I-A.
I'm g-not a daisy or a berzelia. So let me introduce,
I'm g-neither pea or paranomus,
Oh, g-no, g-no, g-no, I'm a g-nidia!"

I was on holiday once down at Agulhas-On-Sea,
Whence I travelled on to Suiderstrand it was actually.
And the second night I stayed there I was wakened from a dream,
Which I'll tell you all about... some other time.

Among the pretty flowers in the garden out the door,
Happily bobbing in the wind was a bloom I thought I knew.
A Disa? No, it's not a disa. An gladioli? It's unlikely, really.
Could it be an arum lily?
When I seemed to hear a voice: "I'm a... g-nidia..."

"I'm a g-nidia,
A g-nother g-nidia!
Sometimes called a daphne or a saffron but
I'm a g-nidia, How are ya?
You really ought to g-now now whats what."

"I'm a g-nidia, spelt G-N-I-D-A,
Don't call me a vygie or a ruschia.
G-nor am I in the least,
Like that dreadful sparaxees,
Oh, g-no, g-no, g-no...
Oh, g-no, g-no, g-no... ,
I'm a g-nidia...
Oh, g-no, g-no, g-no... , I'm a g-nidia!

With humble apologies to Flanders and Swann.