Author's Note: This story is about a girl [who is also a gardener] that gets into a spat with her lover over some rumors spread by people who would want to see them split. When she goes home after he breaks up with her, she writes this poem to him and goes back home... Later on that night, when the boy goes by her house, he sees police cars surrounding it.
When asking about what happened a police officer explained to him that the girl who lived in this house died hours before anyone came around to help. She locked herself in the bathroom and drowned herself in the bathtub, with millions of wilted rose petals surrounding her.
The police didn't understand it, but the boy did.
Wilted roses meant Dying love.
Here is the poem....
The Language of Flowers
Dear Orchid (my Love),
Our love was like Baby's Breath (everlasting),
But what we lacked in Allspice (compassion),
We made up for in Amaryllis (pride).
We let others plants seeds of yellow Hyancinth (jealousy),
Which poisoned and took over our Lavender (devotion and affection) for one another.
Why?
For I know our love was Flax and Forget-Me-Not (fated and true),
It was Gladiolus (love at first sight).
But what is it now?
Merely yellow Crysanthemum and Cyclamen (slighted and resigned).
That's all that's left...
But... Primrose (I can't live without you), red Rose (I love you) Jonquil (Why couldn't you love me back)?
Myrtle (Love),
Hibiscus (Delicate Beauty)
