Not As Good But Just as Old

The seven seasick sailors
Asked a maid to tea
They coughed and laughed and sputtered
Then sailed off to sea

Twelve mysterious druids
Walked in a perfect line
They chanted and they muttered
And took themselves through time

The reapers named their Harvest
Dawn, Dusk and Evening Light
They threw their harvest to the sky
To separate the day and night.

The lizards in the graveyard
Feast on some unholy things
The phantoms keep them company
And the ghost-child softly sings.

Coven witches grouching
Their culdron always hot
Killing frogs and casting spells
Enchanting all the lot

The sun and moon danced merrily
The sky changed blue to black
The clouds rolled in, the clouds rolled out
The Harvest has come back.

A single poet sat and thought
Alive but all alone
And waiting wanting wishing
She sent herself home.