When a black tulip grows,
The whole world shall know;
A field so riled,
Harrowed in style.
Endless blossoms can never be rustled,
For a daisy cannot stand the waking hassle.

Though black, still and pretty;
A sickness grows ever so dearly.
Dear to wonder how it shall end,
Remember tulips have no friends.
We all seek it and want to be near it,
Forgetting orchids are white and the purest.

Roses may be bloody and covered in agony,
But are free of dirt, cuts and rag.
Frankly, tulips are quite pearly.
If you ever catch sight of them,
Remember to cut them down firmly.
As they can still be hurting deeply.

Blacker than death they may be;
Cut them still to be free.
For else all shall be condemned.
Under a garden henge,
Consider a wilted flower,
A long lost friend.