I had told no one
Where that speaking plant was;
For, it bent where no eyes could look
And where the woods became a mirage.

It led to where Daphne took,
And where the butterfly seed would ride.
Sent from a moonlit breeze
near the noxious smell of the tide.

It grew in marsh where all rested still, separate from time;
Where, the digits of the woods can grab you
and the Green Lord wears a Henbane Crown.
So watch where you step when you are among my kind.