Member Poem

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 a lulling 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