At times like this,
Chatter takes a nap.
The air is so refreshing,
Like cheeks pressed on glass.
Twelve sharp rings round the corner,
A cheerful message from Saint Chad.
Twelve low bongs from over town,
Then silence across the land.
Owls hoot on occasion,
Bats offer gentle claps.
Who else feels magic?
Midnight, you enchant.
Midnight Spell
Lewis Wyn Davies 