Witching Hour

Somehow, when the night grows late and time long,

My back and legs tired.

But wait, there, listen, now my mind is wired

To all kinds of thoughts, to music and song.


And song would be enough to inspire dance

But then comes much more

Than an aching to move like not before

And lift my thoughts to  passion and romance.


The spell and witching hour is upon me,

Like teams of horses,

As though I have had stars in my courses,

As though through a looking glass she can see,


And she casts a spell upon my very will.

To her I surrender

And there and then and all I can render

Lain upon the empty page for to fill.


Then before I snap from my lucid dream

Time has carried me

And the night has sailed away out to sea

And my body for rest and sleep doth scream.


But as I rise from my own captain’s wheel,

The anchor away

And I to bed before night becomes day

And my muse for tomorrow sets the deal.


There set, my words upon the written page

That she, me inspired

To ensure that by midnight I’d be wired

And have something remembered for an age.



Copyright © 2017 Grant Fenton – All Rights Reserved

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