deepundergroundpoetry.com
F is for FOXGLOVE
F is for FOXGLOVE
With turgid stems and grasping roots,
Begin this flower's suckling shoots.
The pale green stem proudly stakes its place,
For it's hoping to meet you face to face.
The leaves of these seem here nor there,
But only eat one if you dare.
Semblance of sage but quite different to taste,
Ingest too much and you'll rot down to waste.
Travel up the stem some more,
It's turning paler, of that I'm sure.
At the top, the beauty is found,
A flower not befitting of the ground.
Plumes of purples, cones of pinks,
domeing inwards, each petal links.
Cones themselves of ivory and butter,
Speckled with brown, a gentle smutter.
The treasure inside is just for bees,
The nectar's needed, a warning to thieves.
On closer look, whiskers have sprouted,
Tiny and delicate but deadly in habit.
The beauty of the foxglove cannot be denied,
But those that indulge may not survive.
The plumes, the purples, the pinks and the cones,
Are the sirens for bees and for the bees alone.
The starving rabbits just can't help themselves,
it looks so sweet, so tasty, they desire nothing else.
With a knaw and chomp and chew, chew, chew, crunch.
The rabbits have finished up their beauteous lunch.
Yet what they don't realise, it's the other way round,
Lunch has finished them up, as they cramp down to the ground.
The churning, the hurling, the shaking with sweat,
Regurgitated morsels of what they just ate.
Such lessons are learnt in the most horrid way,
Digitalis will snare you if you are lead astray.
Standing and looking, oh yes fine with that,
but don't come too close dear, you'll be caught by the trap.
Behind many beauties, you'll soon come to see,
There's something more deadly, awaiting to pounce free
The moral of the tale, is foolishly simple to tell,
The foxglove may be alluring, it may be a belle.
What pleases the eye may snuff out the bearer,
if temptation wins out, you'll make the reaper your carer,
AFRIENDOFTINA
With turgid stems and grasping roots,
Begin this flower's suckling shoots.
The pale green stem proudly stakes its place,
For it's hoping to meet you face to face.
The leaves of these seem here nor there,
But only eat one if you dare.
Semblance of sage but quite different to taste,
Ingest too much and you'll rot down to waste.
Travel up the stem some more,
It's turning paler, of that I'm sure.
At the top, the beauty is found,
A flower not befitting of the ground.
Plumes of purples, cones of pinks,
domeing inwards, each petal links.
Cones themselves of ivory and butter,
Speckled with brown, a gentle smutter.
The treasure inside is just for bees,
The nectar's needed, a warning to thieves.
On closer look, whiskers have sprouted,
Tiny and delicate but deadly in habit.
The beauty of the foxglove cannot be denied,
But those that indulge may not survive.
The plumes, the purples, the pinks and the cones,
Are the sirens for bees and for the bees alone.
The starving rabbits just can't help themselves,
it looks so sweet, so tasty, they desire nothing else.
With a knaw and chomp and chew, chew, chew, crunch.
The rabbits have finished up their beauteous lunch.
Yet what they don't realise, it's the other way round,
Lunch has finished them up, as they cramp down to the ground.
The churning, the hurling, the shaking with sweat,
Regurgitated morsels of what they just ate.
Such lessons are learnt in the most horrid way,
Digitalis will snare you if you are lead astray.
Standing and looking, oh yes fine with that,
but don't come too close dear, you'll be caught by the trap.
Behind many beauties, you'll soon come to see,
There's something more deadly, awaiting to pounce free
The moral of the tale, is foolishly simple to tell,
The foxglove may be alluring, it may be a belle.
What pleases the eye may snuff out the bearer,
if temptation wins out, you'll make the reaper your carer,
AFRIENDOFTINA
Published 17th Sep 2016
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Anonymous
- Edited 27th Dec 2019 12:45pm
17th Sep 2016 11:00am
<< post removed >>
17th Sep 2016 11:06am
Thanks! I can sort of see it in my head, standing alone, majestically in the middle of the forest so glad that was conveyed.
26th Dec 2016 1:45pm
27th Dec 2016 8:29am
I have made some adjustments to this poem. I wondered if the previous or latter version was prefered:
"F IS FOR fo̶x̶t̶r̶o̶t̶ FOXGLOVE"
With turgid stems and grasping roots,
Begin this flower's suckling shoots.
The pale green stem proudly stakes its place,
For it hopes eagerly to meet your face.
The leaves are free, seem here nor there,
Only the foolish would eat for a dare.
Semblance of sage, quite different in taste,
Ingest just too much, you'll rot down to waste.
Travel up the stem some more,
Soon it's paler, so as not to obscure.
At the top, oh - such beauty is found,
A flower so unbefitting of the dirty ground.
Plumes of purples, cones of pinks,
Domeing inwards, each petal links.
Cones themselves of ivory butter,
Speckled with brown, a gentle smutter.
The treasure inside is just for bees,
The nectar is guarded to ward off thieves.
On closer look, small whiskers have sprout,
Tiny and delicate but hold such deadly clout.
The beauty of the foxglove cannot be denied,
Those that overindulge may not survive,
The plumes, the purples, the pinks and the cones,
They're sirens for bees and for the bees alone.
The starving rabbits just can't help themselves,
it looks so sweet and they desire nothing else.
With a gnaw and chomp and chew, chew, chew, crunch.
The ravenous rabbits finished up a beauteous lunch.
What they're yet to realise, it's the other-way round,
Lunch finished them up, as they cramp onto the ground.
The churning, the hurling, the shaking with sweat,
Regurgitated morsels of what they just et*.
Such lessons are learnt in the most horrid way,
Digitalis will snare you if you're lead astray.
Standing and looking, nothing bad about that,
But don't go too close dear, don't get caught in the trap.
Behind many beauties, you'll soon come to see,
There's something more deadly, waiting to pounce free,
A wicked wolf in sheep's clothing is all better the trap,
Before you've even clocked it, too late - it's gone: "Snap!"
The moral of the tale is foolishly simple to tell,
A foxglove may be alluring, it may be a belle, yet...
What pleases the eye may snuff out the bearer,
If temptation wins out, it makes the reaper your carer.
AFRIENDOFTINA
* http://www.dictionary.com/browse/et (this is how I would say it in my dialect)
"F IS FOR fo̶x̶t̶r̶o̶t̶ FOXGLOVE"
With turgid stems and grasping roots,
Begin this flower's suckling shoots.
The pale green stem proudly stakes its place,
For it hopes eagerly to meet your face.
The leaves are free, seem here nor there,
Only the foolish would eat for a dare.
Semblance of sage, quite different in taste,
Ingest just too much, you'll rot down to waste.
Travel up the stem some more,
Soon it's paler, so as not to obscure.
At the top, oh - such beauty is found,
A flower so unbefitting of the dirty ground.
Plumes of purples, cones of pinks,
Domeing inwards, each petal links.
Cones themselves of ivory butter,
Speckled with brown, a gentle smutter.
The treasure inside is just for bees,
The nectar is guarded to ward off thieves.
On closer look, small whiskers have sprout,
Tiny and delicate but hold such deadly clout.
The beauty of the foxglove cannot be denied,
Those that overindulge may not survive,
The plumes, the purples, the pinks and the cones,
They're sirens for bees and for the bees alone.
The starving rabbits just can't help themselves,
it looks so sweet and they desire nothing else.
With a gnaw and chomp and chew, chew, chew, crunch.
The ravenous rabbits finished up a beauteous lunch.
What they're yet to realise, it's the other-way round,
Lunch finished them up, as they cramp onto the ground.
The churning, the hurling, the shaking with sweat,
Regurgitated morsels of what they just et*.
Such lessons are learnt in the most horrid way,
Digitalis will snare you if you're lead astray.
Standing and looking, nothing bad about that,
But don't go too close dear, don't get caught in the trap.
Behind many beauties, you'll soon come to see,
There's something more deadly, waiting to pounce free,
A wicked wolf in sheep's clothing is all better the trap,
Before you've even clocked it, too late - it's gone: "Snap!"
The moral of the tale is foolishly simple to tell,
A foxglove may be alluring, it may be a belle, yet...
What pleases the eye may snuff out the bearer,
If temptation wins out, it makes the reaper your carer.
AFRIENDOFTINA
* http://www.dictionary.com/browse/et (this is how I would say it in my dialect)
