It's pedicel rises from a sea of green,
The air is pungent with its subtle aroma
And the earth is pleased with its stability
To the naked eye it may look fragile,
But it's just its deceptive nature,
With bane on its person,
It harms all those who try to pick it.
In this garden of untrusting sight,
One might not know what they really see,
Is it a flower with a gentle nature?
Or a raggedy old weed.
Nevertheless In an endless sky of blue golden petals fly
Spreading its posterity all over the land
Heaving a dreadful sigh this plant does die
With it's stamens going all bone dry...