The night falls

A gentle hush

Ushers in the Sounds

Of the night

 

Wise owl hoots

Harmonizing

With the

Light breeze

That whispers

Through the trees

 

The time has come

For her to leave

And, she goes

Contently knowing

The day is done

 

She idles up

into the attic

Of her mind

Silently

She makes her

Ascent

Anticipating

The things

She will find

 

The moonlight

Greets her

Through

The glass eye

In the roof

illuminating

Her glorious

Truth

 

 

Before her

Lies the treasure

Chest

It draws her in

Til her hand rests

Absorbing the energy

Of the old

Oak tree

 

Without hesitation

Her fingers curl

And stroke

The iron handle

With a gentle

Tug

All is revealed

 

Delving eyes

Discover no

Surprise

She has been here

Before

Wasn’t it her

Who last closed

The door?

 

Reaching in

Soft hands

Land

And gently grasp

A silken dress

Adorned

With a crystal

Clasp

 

The skill

Of the spiders

Weaving

Their webs

Gifts her

A garment

Designed

To impress

 

Over her limbs

It glides

Caressing

Nestling

Accentuating

Her elongated

Thighs

 

Her beauty

Elicits

A chorus

Of sighs

From the

Mice

And the spiders

Who there

Do reside

 

Molly Mouse

Brings

Cherry blossom

To adorn

Her hair

 

Mimosa scent

Fills the air

Dispensed by

The fireflies

Who perform

Their job

With pride

 

Seashells

And feathers

Make for

Fine slippers

Perfect

For this

Balmy weather

 

She is ready

To dance

With the moon

And

The moment

Cannot come

Too soon

 

She is

The High Priestess

Drunk on wisdom

Taken from the

Golden chalice

 

Descended

From the celestial stars

Her ancestral home

Is a heavenly palace

Walls lined with

The work

Of poets and bards

Elucidated

By great works of art

 

Halls filled

With Harps

And the music

Of Angels

While

Roses and lavender

Fill the ancient courtyards

 

This is the place

Where her dreams

Dwell

But all too soon

The day will dawn

And she must

Return

And

Resume

Dancing

To someone

Else's

Discordant tune

 

Still

She knows

Her attic

Is always there

And this is

The gift

That soothes

Her woes

 

When no-one

Is looking

And all has

Gone quiet

She’ll visit again

So her peace

Doth remain.

 

C.K 22