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The Hour When Witches Fly

 

When the night is as cold as stone,

When lightning severs the sky,

When your blood is chilled to the bone,

That's the hour when the witches fly.

 

When the night-owl swoops for the kill,

When there's death in the fox's eye,

When the snake is coiled and still,

That's the hour when the witches fly.

 

When the nightmares scream in your head,

When you hear a strangled cry,

When you startle awake in your bed,

That's the hour when the witches fly.

 

When the sweat collects on your brow,

When the minutes tick slowly by,

When you wish it was then not now,

That's the hour when the witches fly.

 

By

John Foster