Nine Poems for Girls Who Won't Read Them

The Last Bouquet

She walked a lily'd valley 

as she issued her demands

a monk's hood worn upon her head 

and foxglove on her hands 

oleander in her milk

hydrangeas in her hair 

and had she gotten to her drink, 

the hemlock waited there

when she'd danced with belladonna

the deed was all but done

for nightshade bloomed then in the air

and blotted out the sun