by Jo Noir
There once was a man who harvested the flower
those he picked cowered in his power
he wandered far and wide to find his prey
and as he walked he would to himself would he say
"My what nice weather were having, would you say?"
after a while he waited for a reply
he waited and waited and time went by
then he heard as he picked a voice of a guy
"Rather nice out today, isn't it?"
the picker replied, "Why yes I think I shall rest, and sit."
So with this man he sat and talked and talked
months later another picker stumbled to the spot and was shocked
It seems the picker was found
with his sack full still on the ground
his hand had a face painted in wild flower blood
a face of a man, who he talked with wile sitting in the mud
for those of you harvest heed this well, for boredom can lead to death.
while it is very easy to harvest flowers to gain great wealth
it is just as easy to loose your mind
then it be you, not flowers other pickers will find.