Latin: Aconitum napellus.
O he would think king monks of poison
Could add such flavour to a drink.
I put you in the wine
I put you in the food
I put you in the vase
Your fumes are fire,
Revenge shall be mine.
You deceitful herb, anyone can hire.
Violet blue of midnight deep Friar curls heads bent in whispers****
Alkoloid juices to make one weep.
Wolfsbane, Aconte under the moon
The sand’s run through soon.
Then the dark sleep