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Beneath the ancient gallows tree

There sits an old apothecary

Where deep within its ancient rooms

Resides an old man selling ‘shrooms

That he has harvested from soil

Of graveyards where the serpents coil

And if the ache screams in your joints

Just follow where the way-marker points.


The place smells of dust and moist mildew

And the foul dark liquid he will brew

In copper pots and dirty flasks

Whose ingredients no one ever asks

But here the magic of the fey

Will help to take the pain away

So every year the weak and old

Will visit where new hope is sold


If this world becomes too much

If reality is hard to touch

Then take a slice of bitter ‘shroom

From the earth where sweet dreams bloom

The cost is just a piece of mind

So leave your hurts and cares behind

And visit on a winter’s night

To taste the harvest of delight


No one will hear your painless screams

With body healed but not your dreams

For they are cultivated by

The earth fruit that you dared to try

For every kiss there is a fist

Of something skulking in the mist

In the apothecary the old folk say

There is a devil’s price to pay

apothecarycurefolk lorehealingmythnatural highprice to pay

◄ White Witch Of Winter

Resurrected ►


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Ian Whiteley

Fri 9th Oct 2020 23:21

thanx to the kind people who 'liked' this poem ?

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