by Bruce E.R. Thompson.
Feel your whiskers! The garden calls,
for it will soon be night.
The time has come to breach the door
and scuttle out of sight.
No sound will vex the silence but
the calling of a loon,
as, on soft paws, we creep beside
the shadows of the moon.
Beside an ancient, withered tree
beyond the garden wall,
a circle of enchanted stones
will serve as our meeting hall.
A host of pixies will be there
playing a frolicsome tune,
and we will leap and dance beside
the shadows of the moon.
And see you not that mossy path
that leads to the hills beyond?
Venture on it if you will,
but take your cloak and wand,
for there, ethereal goddesses
may be appearing soon.
It may be wise to keep beside
the shadows of the moon.
But, ah!, the legends we will learn
to make our hearts grow bold,
of giants striding through the skies,
and wondrous stories told
by seven skilled librarians
reading an ancient rune;
and we will go to sleep beside
the shadows of the moon.