Fresh air doth skip my trove this very night
Oaks halt the sand and stand against the waves
The leaves doth keep the gifts from any blight
No creatures cut the spot that sits in haze
Felicity spark in the hastening hands
Which lift the lid and find the treasure here
The opalescent bottles somehow stands
Dank oozing slugs and snakes that only jeer
Handled gently the bottles had no marks
The vile ablaze under moon's dull glow
Yet bites and scrapes spike him 'til trembling mars
His wants, his needs, and the intrepid goal
Elixir swigged 'til it rid of remorse
The poor man morph'd into a brain dead horse!
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