Shade Garden Sonnet III

Brother Aconite, your prayers

form frosty beads at Matins blush,

dew slowed to sequins, crystaled spheres

shimmering in the reverant hush

of sunrise, dawn-dappled shade.

Blue-hooded friar, beneath your cowl

the bee sips wine of darkness made –

unhindered by your poison, prowls

from bloom to bloom, a pilgrim-thief.

Your deadly vintage serves its cure

by full moon’s light to wolfish beasts –

Compline chant in toxins pure.

Monk’s-hood, wolf-bane, aconite,

dark prince clothed in purple light.

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