The Language of the Flowers

Your petals softly whisper

While your thorns scream in vain

For that is the language of the Flowers

And deception is its game

Like the sweet Oleander,

With its dainty petals looking friendly

For it wishes you to touch them

And prays your consequences will be deadly

Hear the Angel’s Trumpet,

As it plays lulling a tune

But be careful not to listen

For you’ll never awake beneath its moon

See the Hemlock,

With its complexion so fair

It beckons you closer with a secret

Telling you that it has some to spare

Hidden beneath its beauty

The culprit remains unnamed

For that is the language of the Flowers

And deception is its game