While inside beakers, effervescent solutions
Swirl and spurt gases
Or they’d solidify
Into something supple
Or into these various densities.
The potions were concocted by
A certain type of conniving alchemist
Who’d subtly supply the elements
Whose assistants were the ones
Who’d see to use sampled measurements.
They knew of illusive trapdoor spiders
That’d elusively lie inside burrows,
And the dangerous boars that
Grunted growling snorted retorts.
They disquietly thought to themselves
That this astute alchemist
Was of the same kind
With some sort of intent and purpose
When they discreetly glanced at her notes
With care, they took note
Of all the cryptic messages.
When they went back to look
With intensive purposes,
They had found clues
That led to the torturous,
But didn’t know what
Or how to believe.