The Ghosts Of The Night Poem by alan brown

The moonlight drifted slowly down
covering all with its iridescent glow.
As the trees shimmered, shaking their leaf's
in the cool breeze of the evening.
Stars twinkled in the dark night sky
as the nightingale sang its melodic song.
Life was good and all around
there was thanks for the ending of that glorious day.

Walking out from the shadows
a fox cried out.
Giving birth to the night
as the witching hour approached.
Dark images moved within its grasp
never willing to show their form.
Owls hooted their echoing cries
that would send shivers down any sane mans spine.

The witching hour was upon us
as the village clock struck twelve.
Suddenly swirling mist like forms
massed in the graveyard.
As they moved between the age old stones
standing proud above the rotting bones
that lay buried deep within the earth.
Voices of the dead could be heard
singing songs long lost in the eddies of time.
Sweet and enchanting
as they drifted on the midnight air.

O! , What a night this was
the night of the dead.
As children slept in their nice warm beds
locked tightly behind closed doors.
Never seeing but always dreaming
as the night went on.
As the ghosts of the night
Enjoyed their weekly song.