Thus I am the poisoned flower do not breathe me in my ichor drips a-rife with power and melts into your skin. My petals have once killed and they search for more while widows weep, in sadness filled I grow upon Death's door.
My sap does taste of honey and my pollen, fresh and sweet so spread my poison 'round like money for I make a tasty treat. Gold edges on my leaves do writ of my fatal blossoms. So let the deadly syrup drip upon your poisoned tongue whilst you're buried 'neath the fathoms