When plants are in complexion green
Their colour does make them mean
And like peacocks, their feathered leaves
Raise their shoulders to taunt
Shaping their strong spines to flaunt
Making brownly-attacked sicklers peeve
As they cry at the haunt

They buly the air
And dance with winds
Daring Tsunamis to come like angry waves
As they plan wars on end
They do all things to attract and act
Being quick to hug and embrace
Until fallopians catch arrest juices
To cause a bloating to make them see

Then, the browns lose interest
As their sickness does teach them
That each long leaver will enter the phase
And that no known fate is known for race
It’s sickening
Fighters turning spectators
Watching their former selves play out
Killing themselves peeved
Knowing not what can help curb the curse
Of the energetic thoughts of supremacy
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

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