THE SPELL

A pale pink sun
slid down the sky
pulling the day along.
A misty night 
crept down the street
singing the wind's sad song.

Over the rooftops
climbed the moon,
cold with the frosts of fall - 
hiding its face
like a gypsy girl
with clouds for her veil and shawl.

Two children sat
in the window seat
watching the darkening day - 
a little afraid 
of the shadows
and the whispery things they say.

There were puzzles and games
in the toy box
to busy them just before bed - 
but the spell of the evening
had whisked them away
to the land of enchantment instead.



			Lucille Murphy