The remains of the night cloaked the chill,
another morning-in-rising threatening the sky…
She sipped her tea,
the keyboard whispered, kitty purred.
Beyond the pane each star bowed down
before it disappeared.
The enchanted hours were the quiet and the stars,
or a time when others slept and the sky was cut with electric.
Night, a blanket of imagination so few encountered,
was best for conjuring tales, for capturing the magic.
©March 2018, Christina Anne Hawthorne