Flowers' Complaints to the Florist.
A flower shop glowed and bloomed under the sun,
The florist opened the door and the day had begun,
In the alps of Swiss, the store’s panes glimmered,
As patrons walked-in in large numbers,
Greeted by a long-coated cute clumber.
They handpicked what they desired,
And the florist wrap-tied them in thin wires.
Roses for valentine and birthdays,
Chrysanthemums for the new-born,
Hydrangea for crushes and girlfriends,
Sunflowers for joy and happiness,
Dandelions for blowing wishes,
Lotuses for wishing best of luck,
Carnations and lilies for the funerals.
The day turned into dusk,
The hens made a call; a cluck,
To gather all their chick home.
And so, the florist moved to shut the door,
Calling the day off with a final encore.
As people left, and the lights went off,
The flowers complained of their discrimination.
The very alive lilies and carnations questioned
About their trade as condolences for the dead.
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