Forget the Stone Roses….

With leaves so green and stems so red,
The fuschia in our flower bed
Surveyed the garden with a glance,
Derisive of the other plants.
The scarlet petals seemed to say,
“We don’t like you. Go away.”
But as I watched it from afar,
It strapped on a maroon guitar,
Plugged it in and played a chord,
Which made the other plants applaud.
And, as its leaves intensely quivered,
My neck hairs all stood up and shivered,
It started lashing out a song,
The gladioli played along,
The hebes kept a perfect beat,
A violet sang with voice so sweet,
But the fuschia plainly was the star,
As it lashed out the slide guitar,
Note on note just soared away,
Like Clapton only hoped to play.
Songs of passion, full of soul,
This was the fuschia of rock and roll.