Like the flower that is no real flower
She is such and has the power
To draw her unsuspecting prey
The colours that radiate
The odours that emanate
All of these do state
That she is ready to play
That deadly game of intrigue
The one that pulls you in
Entangles you in sin
Drags your unwilling eyes
To those petalled lips
Nothing really slips by
Those eyes that see all
She makes that obscene call
And traps those unsuspecting flies
And holds them fast until
She has them deep within
Her trap of exquisite pain
Unable to restrain themselves
The passion thus replete
The flies no longer able
Escape is thus denied
Forever in her thrall
Is man and fly both
And never to be set free!
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