Daffodeelia’s favorite hobby was painting flowers. She had a lovely little paint bucket and a magical paintbrush. When she dipped the brush into the paint bucket and touched the flowers with just the tip of it, they glowed with wonderful colors. She enjoyed painting flowers very much.

When night fell and everybody went to sleep, she would fly around the sky with her paint bucket and wonder-brush. She visited all the gardens and painted the flowers. She liked it so much that she spent the whole night painting flowers.

The flowers sat up and waited impatiently, until Daffodeelia came, to dress them up in rainbow colors. She flew all around the flower gardens, painting the flowers quickly, before daybreak.

No one else knew that it was she, who painted them during the night. Only the flowers, themselves, knew the secret. When the sun rose, the flowers woke up and smiled in multi-colored beauty.

One day, as she was flying around, hurriedly painting the wildflowers, in the middle of a forest she came upon a garden with not a single flower in it. The whole garden looked very pale and gloomy and there was a little odd-looking hut in the middle.

Since there were no flowers to paint, in the garden, she flew away. But as she was passing over the garden’s boundary, she heard someone sobbing.
“Who’s crying?”

Daffodeelia looked around to see who it was. But, there was no one to be seen. She heard it again. It had to have come from the pale garden, she thought. But it looked abandoned and not a flower was in sight. A huge fence made with thorny sticks went all the way around the garden. Daffodeelia peeped through the fence, to see who was so unhappy.

“Oh, no! Please Daffodeelia don’t go in,” the wildflowers shouted, all at once.
“Why? Why shouldn’t I go in?” Daffodeelia asked.
“Daffodeelia, that garden belongs to a witch. She doesn’t like any flowers in her garden. And she doesn’t let anyone enter. Not even a single little bee is allowed in. If she sees you, you’ll be in big trouble!” the wildflowers cried. The blubbering sound, which had quit, started again when the flowers spoke up.
“Oh no, someone is crying. I must go and see what I can do.”
Daffodeelia peeped through the fence once more.

“Oh, there you are!” She could finally see it was a tiny little flower, who was crying underneath a bush. The flower looked pale and fragile. She cried so much that Daffodeelia couldn’t bear it.
“Little flower, why are you crying?” she asked, gently.

The little flower lifted her head and looked at Daffodeelia, with tear-filled eyes. “I feel very lonely. No one comes to keep me company, because I am so pale and ugly. The bees and butterflies visit all the other flowers, but do not come to me, because I’m not pretty. I don’t have any color at all!” The little pale flower sobbed and sobbed. Daffodeelia felt sorry for her.
“Oh, don’t cry, little flower. I will give you beautiful colors. Then, you also will be pretty, like the others. And the bees and butterflies will come to you too,” she said.

Just as she was about to creep under the fence, to go to the little flower, all the wildflowers shouted again. “Oh, no, Daffodeelia…. don’t go in! The witch hates flowers and colors. That’s why that plain little flower is hiding under the bush. If you go in, you’ll get caught by the witch.”

“But, please…. I want to help that poor flower. She is so sad. I want to give color to her and make her happy,” Daffodeelia said.

“Well, then, you wait here until I go and see whether the witch is still sleeping,” said one hummingbird, who had been watching from a branch. He flew towards the witch’s hut at once and came back tweeting. “Hurry up! Hurry up! The witch is still sleeping. Go in and paint the flower before she wakes up,” said the bird.

Daffodeelia was very happy. She crept through the fence, into the witch’s garden and went to the pale, little flower. “Daffodeelia, be careful….. be careful!” the flowers and the butterflies shouted, as she went in.

The pale flower was very happy. Her face was flushed with happiness. Daffodeelia knelt down beside her and started to paint. She had barely touched the flower, when she was pulled to her feet by someone.

“Oh, nooooo!” she cried.
It was the witch of the pale garden. She had woken up and come to see what was going on. “What are you doing here?” the witch growled. “I…I….I just came to paint this little flower.” Daffodeelia stammered, in fear.
“What? To paint a flower? I’ll paint you instead!” The witch held her by the wings and pushed her right down on top of the little flower. And then she grabbed Daffodeelia’s bucket and poured all the paint onto her head.

“Oh, noooooo! Please…”
The paint dripped down her head. The strands of her golden hair were streaked with paint. And when she shook her head, little driblets of paint sprinkled all over.

Just then, an amazing thing happened. The little driblets that had splashed on the ground from her hair, popped up magically, as lovely little golden flowers. The whole garden was soon covered with them. Some of the driblets that had landed on the witch’s nose, also popped up as golden flowers.

The witch, who hated flowers, got very angry. Her cottage also was covered with the golden flowers. She couldn’t stop the flowers from blooming. She couldn’t bear their lovely fragrance, either. She plopped the paint bucket on Daffodeelia’s head and went away, angrily.

Bees and butterflies fluttered all around her. She waved her hands trying to beat them away, but she couldn’t. The flowers were blooming all over the place and the whole garden turned golden, with the magical flowers. The witch couldn’t bear it any more, so she packed up her things and left to go to a new forest, far away, kicking at the flowers angrily, as she went.

The sun was rising in the eastern sky. The little golden flowers danced merrily. And the little flower, no longer pale, also laughed merrily, glowing in golden color. The morning breeze refreshed them and took their lovely fragrance all across the forest.

Daffodeelia was very happy. She laughed and flitted among the flowers, singing happily.

The flowers, bees, and butterflies sang along with her. When the sun had risen, she left to go back to fairyland. The golden flowers waved to her, as she flew away. They looked so beautiful in the sunlight, just like Daffodeelia.

Thereafter, the lovely golden flowers were called “daffodils.” That’s how daffodils came into this world.

we bring calm to your bedtime routine

Listen to Sleep Tight Stories

Listen to Sleep Tight Stories on Apple Podcasts Listen to Sleep Tight Stories on Google Podcasts Listen to Sleep Tight Stories on Spotify

Subscribe and join our growing community of listeners

We are social