The autumn bluebell was as confident a poppy growing on the graveyard of all the blood giver soldiers.
The roots were barging up the soil like zombies coming up from their abandoned grave.
Her petals were crying because of the months without sunlight and she was very close dying.
The stem dropped down because of the devil dad that kicked him everytime he talked.
The pollen sneezed as beautiful bee buzzed on top of her nose that was as sensitive as your tayste buds on tongue.
The Origami oak was shaped with patterns all around her and it was in the shape of a spiral staircase or a tornado whizzing round tornado lane knocking all the houses down.
Her roots were as curled up as a pigs tail, they were carving patterns into the roots that took nine hours to do.
Her leaves were made like magical things some in the shape of doves others in the shape of dragons, but one thing that people say if a dragon falls on you, you will be cursed with bad luck and if a dove falls on you, you will be granted with good luck.
The twigs were different shapes at times, at Halloween they were in the shapes of spiders and easter eggs at easter and finally Christmas trees at Christmas.
Her flowers only grew at summer but when they did they were as beautiful as blossom, They had pink red and orange flowers that looked like a group of children playing in the park.