I see the flowers watching me
In the corner of my eye
And I know they turn to follow me
As I warily pass them by
They seem to pop up everywhere
I’m in fear for my life
There’s a crocus in my garden
I suspect it has a knife

The tulips mug pedestrians
While the daisies hold them down
The orchids throng their sordid beds
In parks of ill renown
Daffodils are widely known
To traffic drugs for money
The roses mock the handicapped
And think that AIDS is funny

Forget-me-nots are racist
They’re a monochrome bouquet
You should never trust a marigold
For they quickly go astray
Foxglove can be terminal
And belladonna too
So I’m going to watch the summertime
Through a sheet of glass or two

When I first made the night, I did
The moonlight sloshed in jars
I pulled the blackness overhead
And pinned it there with stars
I spilled the moon a puddle
Like a ghost it rose aloft
I waved a gentle breeze, I did
A whisper in the trees, I hid
A lullaby, to ease the lid
A silence, butter soft

I revelled in the night, I did
The void I’d cut for me
I edged the world in silhouette
With silver filigree
I felt dewdrops clustering
In beads about my face
The creeping glow of dawn, I spy
A purple hint of morning sky
An hour overdrawn, am I
And slightly out of place

I feel I might be missing
There’s a shadow in my place
I’m told he looks a bit like me
But hollow where his heart should be
Just seek him out, it’s plain to see
He’s mainly empty space

I fear I may be falling
As I’ve failed to find the ground
We parted ways, a bitter feud
And nothing further soon ensued
I gained a lot of altitude
In just a single bound

I feel as though I’m wearing out
Reserves are running low
Each passing hour I lament
The waste of every second spent
They tumble by without relent
I’m caught up in the flow

'Tis a dry kind of land
Said the cactus to the sand
In the light of noon his prickles were a’glistening
But no answer returned
And the cactus duly learned
That the sand was only any good for listening

She pours a nervous tingle
Onto all that she perceives
The room is slightly darker
From the moment that she leaves
Regrettable, the whole affair
Breakfast and denial
Sarah May, have a care
Not her style

She saunters past decisions
With indifference to spare
She’s free with her opinion
But has nothing to declare
Teetering about the brink
Precarious, her dance
Sarah May, stop and think
Not a chance

But she’s got no recollection
Of the sharp end of the clock
The consequences streak her face
And crumple up her frock

So she breaks away the borders
And she tears the frame apart
With glitter on her fingernails
An armour plated heart
Tempting as a chocolate cake
As subtle as a brick
Sarah May, run away
Not too quick

“I think therefore I am” they say
I wish they'd not forgot
To make the small addition:
“or I don’t therefore I’m not”
**

The chocolate digestive is a marvel of invention
Custard creams are sickly, but worthy of a mention
Shortbread can be gritty, steer clear of the cheap ones
For if you love your biscuits, your pockets must be deep ones

For perfect dunkability, the hobnob leads the field
But prone to going chewy if their packet isn't sealed
Bourbon creams can satisfy when nothing else is offered
Avert your eyes from pretzels, no matter how they're proffered

The lowly Garibaldi is an underrated treasure
A macaroon is excellent for eating at your leisure
Enjoy the home made cookies and the chocolate crispy nests
And save a pack of party rings for fobbing off on guests

But biscuits can be functional, with keen survival craft
A packet of pink wafers can be used to make a raft
Penguins can be hollowed out and used to smuggle crack
And if you throw a ginger nut, you'll always get it back

A Jaffa cake is handy as a snowboard for a spider
And flapjacks are a sustenance and energy provider
Wagon wheels are lethal when they're wielded by a ninja
Brandy snaps cure cancer with a tiny hint of ginger

Experiment with biscuits, they're a versatile thing
Try horizontal dunking or the highland shortbread fling
Keep a packet stashed away for when the end is nigh
And always have the kettle full, and milk in good supply