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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race, of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side:
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief:
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
The Queen revels beyond the realm of summer’s lurid light
To scorn the damp recess of shade where moss has laid its lawn.
Her pale and powdered faces flaunt the earth by starry night;
Though falling, faint and faded, by the cawing crow of dawn.
Her slender, waxen limbs are draped upon her chosen sire  
Who cradles her, consumed amid the scent of her perfumes.
Wherever out her branches bend; is loveliness admired
By fleeting bat and beating moth; by men and sailing moons.
Magnificent she flourishes; dry, dappled shade her nest
Where wild and unrestrained, resplendent flowers ever grow
So fair, and verdant framed, and scarlet tipped, and golden tressed;
With flames of bronze and ivory her lighted candles glow.
The chills of night cannot befall: the hallowed earth is blessed
Wherever blooms the Queen of Night; Selenicereus.
Selenicereus is an epiphitic cactus native to South and Central America. The scientific name is derived from Selene, the Greek Goddess of the moon. They are sometimes referred to as the 'queen of the night' because the flowers open at night.
Wizard of the earth; I am the botanist or yore -
Conversing with the stars until the stars can hear no more.
I read them pharmacopoeias from catacombs of lore  
To fill the vacant sky with verse of those who lived before.

Poet of the sky and the ever glowing sun -
A seven-headed serpent lays in wait upon my tongue.
I sing in sacred stanzas from a phantom in my lungs
To make my spirit rise before the day is yet begun.
Unfinished fragment from something i wrote a few years ago. needs work.
A crystal pitcher; aptly made
My trembling hand upon it laid
Then to my lips, I did lift
With loving sips upon more sips
To feel the wet and languid kiss
Of innocence amiss.
A horror from the dark;
The dreadful fiend awaits.
Its properties appall for they
Were formed in outer space.

Its skin is made of eyes.
The eyes are made of skin.
A thousand gnashing teeth adorn
The bones that move within.

The stomach is a brain;
The brain therefore consumes.
In time it shall attain a form
That human life assumes.

Perhaps it has arrived
And walks among us now.
A being so contrived will beg
The questions – Why? and How?

Conspiracy - I say -
A thing of troubled thoughts;
A fabrication made of fears
Anxiety has wrought.

So what if it were true?
- A doomed humanity -
A New World Order – new, in that,
We’d suffer equally.

But the teeth remain unseen
And the seething eyes are blind,
For when I dream, I dream instead
Of people left behind.

The fear of the unknowns
That from the darkness peer
All vanish when we know that horrors
Are already here.

The fictions that we’ve made
Conceal a world inversed,
But I am unafraid because,
The truth, in fact, is worse.
Step, yes step – nay, dance -
Upon my grave
But do not wallow, whine or whisper
Nor in lamentations rave.
I am gone; I am past;
Into a quiet place at last.
The world is warm and bright
Though I lie beneath the grass.
Pick flowers, if you must
But do not leave them here for me.
Bring them home
To be loved
By friends and family.
There’s always time to stickybeak -
To stop and have a look.
You never know unless you peek
In every shaded nook.

Who needs a reason to explore -
For any reason’s fair.
You won’t know what your looking for
Until you find it there.

So take your time - investigate -
The place where no one’s been.
It’s easy to appreciate
The things you’ve never seen.
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