Originally by https://pastebin.com/u/plumbous

Beware, beware the forest deep
Where vile creatures are known to creep.
The beasts with claws are of least concern,
For it's the vines and tendrils that you must learn.
They trip and hold your legs from below,
Then stuff your belly for it to grow.
The nectar they feed is sweet and light,
And fear quickly turns into delight.
They hold your body to keep it still
Until you've had far more than your fill.
It's not unpleasant, I must admit,
To be so full that no more can fit.
You become so round, but feel no pain.
In fact, you want the feeling to remain.
And the more the wicked vines produce,
The more your cheeks leak out the juice.
The resin cools and glues your lips
Around the leaking tendril's tips.
You can't spit it out and you can't turn away,
For the taste is so addicting that you want to stay.
The fluid begins to digest so fast
That your stomach and rear become heavy and vast.
It spreads and thickens your legs and thighs
And your whole figure softens before your eyes.
Yet still you have no choice but to strain and swallow
While your cheeks and neck, in growth, soon follow.
The vines stop when they're empty and let you go,
But by then your movements are far too slow.
You have to waddle back home, burdened and taut,
And wonder to yourself what nature has brought.
 
The purpose of these plants, I cannot say,
But I can guess why they act this way.
I predict that their nectar was for the bees
Which no longer fly into the Everfree.
So they hide and wait in patches of grass
Until they find a new creature to increase in mass.
So be warned, pony folk -- or be dared, if you may,
For the feeding vines that await their prey.