Back in 2013 I wrote about remembering a poem I learnt when I was a child, 'Kingcups in Town' by Eleanor Farjeon. It's the only poem I still remember off by heart, and I am going to include here, again, because I love the poem and I love kingcups.
Down the street the old man came and on his head he bore a flame.
I stopped to gaze, so he stopped too
"Want some?" he said
"Indeed I do. Where did you get them?
"Uxbridge way, all the lot fresh picked today.
Off of the island there" he said, shifting the basket from his head.
"You get them when the water's out
O'course you have to wait about all night for 'em,
But the bud'll bloom lovely when they're in your room".
So I took the bunch from him, still wet
And then the kingcup gatherer set the brimming basket on his old grey head
And walked off beneath the gold.
Yes, walked off in his hobnail boots and the shabbiest of suits
Crowned in the Maytime of the Spring
More gloriously than a king!