Hard to know how long you have been Asleep When you wake from The Sintering Summer's languid Creep,
the Fog, thy Shadows, The Nightmarish Winter Observered by us, via the Autumnal Quarter Splinter,
Equal Days, And Orthogonal Nights, the Equinox, requires unorthodox Frights,
Days get shorter, As night encroaches, and Spirits emerges, Like unseen Cockroaches,
In for a Penny, and In for a Pound, Don't be Surprised, When the Bomb-Sirens Sound,
This is, after all, is the First of October, Try not to be surprised, if this month gets 'Spookier' Once it is over.
Welcome.
Recline on one of our couches, upholstered in the finest silk we could have, imported from the Orient.
Take your pipe, filled with quality Afghan Poppy, and imbibe, while you listen to our house poets take you to transcendent realms with their words.
Should you feel so bold, feel free to pen a poem, or short story here, while you are under the beautiful duress of the midnight's oil.
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