Death on the Window Sill

I think it's dead.

I’ve a colleague who brings plants to work,
It’s nice, but makes us feel like jerks.
Of course they are much appreciated,
Then again they’re almost always fated,
To shrivel and die and then turn brown,
Dropping their dead bits on the ground.
While green plants divert us and delight,
Those dead brown plants just ain’t right.
It’s bad feng shui, or so they say,
Sucking all the life in the room away.
Though they are admired and preferred,
No one remembers to water them but her.
So guilty then all of us feel,
Surrounded by the plants we’ve killed.
So personally I would much rather,
That this kind plant lady didn’t bother.

Words, words, glorious words! Give me all of your words!

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