chimsical

A flower sings a song of war,   a melody between many are tore. Some take up the tune at the drop of a coin;   some hide in the boon, too scared to join. The march of the daisies will soon begin,   while the lilacs slowly come closing in. The snowdrops strife will begin at night,   while the roses prefer the daylight.   Quite a few nosegays have lost their lives,   for a reason unknown to their husbands and wives. One second they stayed,   one second they left, a moment now gone that they'll never get back;   a life now gone, the petals turned black.