Metaphorical Flora

Whispers of the vine, shadows on the mind,

An encoded song sung by flowers, petals intertwined.

In their fragrance lies a tale, woven with silent screams—

Follow the scent to the edges of untold dreams.

Harvest the dew: 8~5~12

Let roots speak in tongues, languages lost to mankind.

Observe the thistle's dance—a cipher upon the sun's skin.

In every thorn, a pause, an unshed regret, a yearning.

Seek the grove where time forgets its tears, its aching.

And so it goes, the symphony of roots; the melody of soil—

A compass guided not by stars, but by the flowers’ eternal toil.

Decode their whispers, witness the bloom's silent cry—

Within each seed, a soul, and heaven’s lost alibi.

Eden's map: 19~1~20~9~22~5