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~ By Courtesy of Others ~
An Ode to the Dark Time
When there's a chill in the evening air
And the moon cannot be found,
When spiders bar the oft' tread path
And the wind makes an eerie sound,
When the fire sends off its faery sparks
And the warmth less comfort than its light,
When the leaves are whisp'ring the secret tongue,
And rustling the mystery of the night,
When mortal jaws clench tight in fear,
Lest they draw attention 'cross the veil,
Then, my friend, is the time to lift
A cup of mead to Hel.
© 2005 Sharon Hill.