Lichen and moss and plants sick and vile,
they cover bare rocks and rotting trees,
crumbling houses and fragments of tile -
the saddest of sights one ever sees.
All the fair creatures have vanished with flight,
who stays will stagger and sway and swoon.
Can you see demons in the depths of night,
hear werewolves sing of love to the moon?
Shadows slay wanderers, ghouls have a feast,
a vampire kisses a body once warm,
and incubi, succubi – last but not least -
those dreadful shifters of shape and form.
But when she comes, the lord of all things dreaming,
before her they cower, worshipping, screaming.
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