The Irish-nightshade

The Irish-nightshade dances

Like the northern lights

Dancing in the winter months,

Stems sticking up

From the soiled ground

As if it were a tower.

Their purple petals opened,

Revealing a poisonous pollen inside.

Their roots a winding, intricate maze

Of cogs and wheels in a machine.

Fuchsia leaves,

Like a pig

With an amethyst centre

That led on a treasure hunt,

Up the violet veiny stem,

Into the cannon-like style shooting out the

Life ending style.

The Murkwood Tree

The Murkwood Tree leaves sing a song

Of wind as it sways,

Frail twigs hold on by branches

That stick out

Like swords,

Poking unsuspecting victims.

Roots that stretch

Out as far

As the eye can see,

A trunk of tungsten protecting

An iron heart.