In the heart of old London, where shadows do creep,
Lived a chemist, a scholar, whose secrets ran deep.
With beakers and flasks in a dust-laden lair,
He concocted his potions with meticulous care.

By candlelight’s flicker, in midnight’s cold grip,
He whispered dark verses with a quivering lip.
In a chalice of crystal, his hands deft and quick,
He mixed drops of violet, a potion most slick.

The liquid, it shimmered, like twilight’s last gleam,
A hypnotic allure in a lavender dream.
He named it “The Shade,” for it danced with the night,
A sip promised wonders, but none could take flight.

For this was no drink for the faint-hearted fool,
It sang with the power of chaos and rule.
With one single taste, visions stirred in the mind,
Of specters and phantoms, of time left behind.

Yet, the chemist was drawn to its deep purple glow,
A longing unspoken, a thirst none could know.
He raised the glass high to the void’s endless call,
And drank down the potion, forsaking it all.

Through time and through space, his spirit did soar,
But the price of such wisdom was life nevermore.
In his lab, there he lies, with eyes wide and still,
The glass now long empty, the potion fulfilled. 

A cautionary tale, this chemist’s grim fate, 
For those who seek knowledge must carefully wait. 
In the depths of the night where dark potions may spin, 
Beware what you sip, lest the shadows draw in. 

He awakens and stirs, lifts up from the floor,
As the Poppy takes flight, through death’s open door.
In shadows reborn, where the living don’t tread,
The chemist now walks among spirits long dead.

In the heart of old London, where shadows do creep, Lived a chemist, a scholar, whose secrets ran deep. With beakers and flasks in a dust-laden lair, He concocted his potions with meticulous care. By candlelight’s flicker, in midnight’s cold grip, He whispered dark verses with a quivering lip. In a chalice of crystal, his hands deft and quick, He mixed drops of violet, a potion most slick. The liquid, it shimmered, like twilight’s last gleam, A hypnotic allure in a lavender dream. He named it “The Shade,” for it danced with the night, A sip promised wonders, but none could take flight. For this was no drink for the faint-hearted fool, It sang with the power of chaos and rule. With one single taste, visions stirred in the mind, Of specters and phantoms, of time left behind. Yet, the chemist was drawn to its deep purple glow, A longing unspoken, a thirst none could know. He raised the glass high to the void’s endless call, And drank down the potion, forsaking it all. Through time and through space, his spirit did soar, But the price of such wisdom was life nevermore. In his lab, there he lies, with eyes wide and still, The glass now long empty, the potion fulfilled. A cautionary tale, this chemist’s grim fate, For those who seek knowledge must carefully wait. In the depths of the night where dark potions may spin, Beware what you sip, lest the shadows draw in. He awakens and stirs, lifts up from the floor, As the Poppy takes flight, through death’s open door. In shadows reborn, where the living don’t tread, The chemist now walks among spirits long dead.