I was walking down the hill,
I saw a wild bush along the
winding way.
A wonderful bunch of flower
was there, nodding with the wind
and did sway.
An unknown smell of jungle weed
put me in sheer feelings of trance,
and utter dismay.
An irresistible will to pluck
the flowers was telling me to
stand and stay.
But, the smell, the wildness
of the bunch, warned me
to go away.
Still, I stooped and plucked
and took near to my nose,
in mood gay.
Fainted I then fell on path,
as the flowers were venomous,
so to say.
What is poison for one is food for another. Although the weed is venomous, some takes deight in it. The end for them is always bad. I hope I am right. Good poem. Keep scribling
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
all nature has a story to tell or smell if we just take heed good write