Witching Hour

SET TO MUSIC AT BOTTOM...

Hear the echo of the distant bell.

Enchanting songs shrink and swell,

Rising in you with their knell.

It’s witching hour, a time from hell!

The cadence begs you, soft; remember,

Burning bright, a kindling ember

Deep inside each loyal member,

Like firelight from nature’s timber.

Masses huddle beneath the trees.

Woodland dwellers near the seas,

Cherishing now each chilling breeze,

Bowing and scraping on bended knees.

The haunting song calls forth the lightning,

Each eye fearful, stark and frightening.

With anticipation heightening,

Heartbeats slowly feel a tightening.

Comes their master from his chasm,

More handsome here than you can fathom.

Witches writhe in ghostly spasm

At the sight of this phantasm.

Lighting sacrificial rite

To chase the shadows from the night,

In homage to his earthly flight

No one suspected evil plight

A scream disrupts the chilling air,

Informing others to beware.

The master comes not in their care,

But bringing death, so cruel, unfair.

From the village chants arise,

Lighting up the moonless skies,

Heeding not the pleading cries,

As in his service each one dies.

Centuries have come and passed,

Fortunes lost; again amassed,

But here again nothing will last;

A chilling spell no longer cast.

And in the seas, say passer’s by,

When midnight brings the starless sky

You’ll hear the mournful, pleading cry

Of witches begging not to die.

If one should travel through the glen

And ask some of the village men

How they allowed such evil sin,

They oft’ reply with slighted grin

…’twas witching hour, back then.