The Soil

She takes out her glass
From her scientist's pocket,
And examines a flower
Growing out of a socket.

Squashing down her fear
Of the scary plant pot,
She peers in to find out
What kind of secrets it's got.

She imagines a seedling
Alive in her head
Looking for light, and some water,
Needing to grow, and be fed.

If it's ear-bound, the sound,
Would be the least of her woes.
At least it would smell nice,
If it grew out of her nose.

The roots of this plant,
Aren't touching the ground
She wonders if this is why
There are no others around.

With all of the other plants
That she has found,
The green part has grown up,
And the root part grew down.

Her heart is in flight
And her brain starts to boil,
What if the plants here
Were killed by the soil?