Flowers are pretty when they bloom,
When they incubate their petals they look like blunt spears,
They fear losing their dear children,
When they die so does the plant,
Leaving a plot of where life used to exist,
Their unborn children sprout and float through the air,
Until they find a friend to attach to,
They hold on and grow with their new found friend,
As they grow their flower suffocates its friend,
Until only the flower is left.