Tuesday, 2 September 2014


In the stillness of the nursery
Magic midnight hold her breath and smiles 
As cupboard doors creak,
Out tumbles a hoard of little soldiers
Small toys but jumping,twitching grinning silly
Mischief's life dances in the tin and wood and lead.

Peevish prods and pinches
Round and round they wheel
Twisting what is real,"We played this game with you remember,remember how it feels?"
Midnight's magic never ends
Nor do the dancers stop to catch their breath,
Until juice from a darker hour's fruit
Drips upon the spell
And all is well.
The tired soul can breath, healed
And sinking to sleep will rise tomorrow 
As a conqueror.
                                                Wilf 1991

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