As November leaves
its shadowy touch
at the end of the year,
I fall into a slumber
And a world of dreams appears;
A poet on a hillside,
A painter by a heath,
A kind Victorian lady,
A slapstick jewellery thief,
An angry little mouse,
A ballerina in a box,
A talking candlestick,
A crafty little fox,
A pretty little mermaid,
A witch with magic spells,
A ghost of things yet to come,
A dozen Christmas bells,
Twinkling apparitions
Of good men who’ve come and gone,
I dance amongst them gaily
To a happy, ghostly song,
Then in the morning sun I wake up
With the fireplace alight,
And the rolling hills outside
All blanketed in white;
And all those that I met
In the adventures of my mind,
Stay with me inside my heart
For new fairytales to find!
