They’d capture live pulsating plants  
And put them by her bed 
She loved to feel, caress and touch 
She claimed they heard each word she said 
She’d watch them writhing in their pots 
She’d watch, and they’d watch too 
Their tentative long writhing stalks 
That tried to leave their bedside zoo 
If only she could understand 
She would not be so keen 
That plants and flowers   
Looked alive can turn out very mean    
And then one silent summers day   
They found her lying dead   
With a large geranium’s pale green stalk   
Lying gently round her head   
Her relatives soon gathered around   
Her uncles and her aunts   
To see the only woman that   
Was murdered by her plants    
They buried her amidst the tune   
Of weeping summer showers   
And children came to view her tomb   
And on it put dead flowers