Night

by Ian Dale

 

Blue day turns to orange dusk turns to gray evening turns to black Night.
Time for all good little girls and boys to be in bed,
Time for all shadows and spirits to be up ahead
Dancing in the white moonlight.

In come the shadows, through the walls,
In come the shadows, up and down the halls.
Time to dance, time to sing,
Time to prance, the bells will ring.

Dance, they do, and dance they will.
Dance in the heads of children near and over the hills.
To put in their minds
Ideas and visions of ghouls and fiends.

Black nights, gnarled trees,
Hooting owls, churning seas.
Visions of dark-cloaked visitors of fright,
Coming in the Night.

Be afraid, children!
Fear for your lives!
Let men run with their wives,
And you run away, then.

The shadows dance their dance,
And the shadows prance their prance.
They laugh at the fear
Of those both far and near.

Horrors upon horrors,
And terrors imbibed.
Singing through mirrors,
Every fright have they tried.

But night draws to a close, children,
And with it their game.
The dawn draws near and then
The shadows and fear will be tamed.

So fear no longer than is needed,
And be glad you’d not heeded
Their terrifying advice,
Trying to trap you like a vise.

Black Night turns to orange dawn turns to blue day.
And though the shadows may
And will be back,
They can be trapped and kept in the mind’s sack.

©1997 Ian Dale

 

 

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