Darkling the night spins its web of stars,
Hazy the moon in its tangerine shroud.
Owl Woman calls out from the forest deep:
Waken, all dreamers, from your sleep.
I rise, all unwilling, from my wildish dreams.
The midnight is peopled with wild creatures' screams.
The trees lie in wait with their strangling roots,
ready to trip my scruffy boot.
The forest moans low as the fog moves in.
When I look up, the starry heavens spin.
Dark and drear, the ground I tread upon;
When I turn to go back, the path is gone.
One from 2014 for the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.