Of flowers and spies
I used to think more highly of your flowers
and the language I was told they could convey.
Then I learned each flower’s just a concept
and not a single word, sentence or phrase.
I thought you could compose a code in roses:
“The empire’s fallen; we attack at dawn.”
Turns out they just mean love, or death, or friendship,
nothing to plan assassinations on.
If you cannot encode a hidden message
of secrets and betrayals by bouquet;
if this language can’t be one of spies,
I care not what your petals have to say.
But I’ve found the language goes beyond just flowers.
It’s trees and ferns and shrubs and plants you eat.
Though many of the prettiest are poisons,
potatoes mean benevolence. That’s neat.
So though I can’t deny I’m disappointed
I can’t plan crime using forget-me-nots,
at least I’ve always been correct in thinking
There’s kindness in the form of tater tots.
Based on the prompt in this post. Sometimes you just can’t take things too seriously, y’know?