Of daffodils and ice lilies

In the lull of night As old man, s fingers wrap themselves across the chilled-torn fabric of time itself Where, Daffodils and ice lilies converge Beneath an ominous moon As dewdrops fell In sync with witch-thawed fingers Merrily, plucking amongst these fields of falsified bliss Indiscriminately, unexpectedly Uprooted even, the buds of May Until An allotment wasperfected , far too soon As they lay, where they fell Indefinitely… Tonight these fields are less adorned