My name is Dr. Moreau

I hope you'll come tomorrow to see

in the laboratory of my garden

how I create life from seeds and other sources. 

 

I have plants that meaow

some that bow wow their heads

when the sun goes in. 

Carnivorous corms

irises with wings,

roses with fingers instead of stamens

these are a few of my feverish things. 

 

Compost mixed from eye of newt

toe of frog, raised from a bog. 

Double double toil and trouble,

a constant supply of bees that sneeze

and spread their droplets,

spiders that smile from the foxglove bell

a combination made in hell.

 

Hibernation on permanent drips

perfect statuary with tuberous lips.

Visiting hours are short and sweet

an acid bath for hands and feet. 

My restless horde is stirring again

for playmates desperate, you can hear their pain. 

 

The man eating plants are rather large

they have to be you see,

will look you up and down quite pleasantly

then quiver with expectation

at their daily degustation.