And trolls and imps and goblins creep
Through the metal-coloured light
Of the hunter’s moon tonight,
Closer, closer to my castle,
Cut-throat, thief and vicious rascal.
Their nails are torn and caked with gunk,
Their eyes, inside their sockets sunk,
Are hungry, hungrier than time,
Their lips are soaked with famished slime.
As harsh as crows their bitter calls
Echo through my fortress walls
And I just lie there in the dim
Praying that they won’t get in!
But as the hunter moon goes down
And fine sir sunshine rides to town,
I finally drift off to sleep
And then, at last, my castle keep
Becomes a block of flats again,
Nothing special, very plain,
And all around it melts the dark
Night’s transients of the grey car park.
© Leone Annabella Betts 2014
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