Mirabelle and The Evening Ghost.

Mirabelle says:
"I love to walk
amongst tall trees
because they talk
of all the things
that I love the most:
Hemlock and Foxglove
and the Evening Ghost."

Mirabelle has a lover.
She says: "For you I'd die."
He says: "I'll marry your sister.
My love for you was always a lie."
Mirabelle says: "I forgive you.
And I will bake you a Wedding Cake
of the very finest ingredients.
All for our lost love's sake."

Out upon her table she lays
her bowl and mixing spoon,
and as she stirs in the night's collection
she sings a happy tune:
"Oh, Wolfbane and Destroying Angel,
Wormwood and Mandrake.
Oh, Nightshade and Hellebore,
what a lovely confection you'll make."

And so at the Wedding the beautiful Cake stands
like an innocent shining light.
No one guesses at the poisons within
that Mirabelle had gathered at night.
And as she leaves the Wedding Hall
she hopes not one will be left alive.
And of the hundred folk at that Wedding
there are only two who survive.

One is bonny Daisy Smith,
a very greedy child,
who, when she sees the Wedding cake,
goes uncontrollably and ravenously wild.
She stuffs it swiftly and voluminously down
taking no account
of the unbearable pressure within
that begins to mount....

.... and she is, all of a sudden,
most gloriously and greenly sick
and straightaway dragged by her Mother,
who is shamed and very quick,
into the toilets and left
to be sick and sick again.
And when, some time later, she staggers out
there is neither Mother nor friend....

.... waiting out there
on that silent dance floor,
only ninety eight corpses
and Tina Galore.
Tina, the Famous Model, who,
for her boney frame's sake,
eats only a teaspoonful of chicken each day,
and never, never, never, Wedding cake.

Tina, waist deep in bodies,
sees Daisy and indignantly calls:
"I am stricken and deeply, deeply,
and completely and utterly appalled.
Even my Agent's heart has stopped ticking
and now he lies here silent and dead.
Everyone always lets me down.
I'm going to go home and go to bed."

Mirabelle soon has a new lover.
He smells of smoke and rain.
But her best friend also likes him.
Mirabelle thinks: "Oh. Not again.
Looks like the time has come around
for me to make another brew.
Something like the old one
and something really new."

Moral of this Story:

If you tell her that you love another
and at night she goes out to collect flowers,
it's not years or months that you have left to live,
it's probably just a few hours.