Night-Sprite - Richard Fleming

Old houses creak and sigh,
past midnight when the air is still
and different rules to daylight-rules apply.

Then, shifting shadows dye
the carpet while the air grows chill
and rows of toys stand lifelessly nearby.

Child of light, child so slight,
beware the frightful Night-sprite’s bite.

Alone in bed, I cry:
‘The wardrobe door is open still
and something black is hovering nearby’.

Unheard, unloved, I lie.
Night terrifies. It always will,
for different fears to daylight-fears apply.

Richard Fleming