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