Over hill on a golden afternoon,
Down thro’ the wooden dales, where lights succumb,
Wondered when Stars wink at the Moon,
To shame the Sun and hearts benumb.

At last, the night! Alas--
The peep of owls, so flash,
The squeal of ghosts, so brash,
And shadows gather mass.

Old whispers stir, unkind,
Through mist and hollow wind...

Avaunt! Wild beast deform’d…

In silence loud, the former praises sound.
Nola, lone, she forbore beneath the Stars,
With timeless strength on cold playground,
Glanced swiftly at their Wiles, and roars
        
Reverberate… While the storm

Came dancing in the frame of Flurry East,
When deep into her pools so brilliant, prowl
A chilling sight of restless beast,
Screaming, each on hill, sad jovial howl

At Moon, aboon the norm. 

                                                         ­          Premeditatio Malorum