Mischief in the Night

There’s a sort of mischief in the night

Where breezes blow,

And tickle our imaginations:

There might be monsters under our beds,

Or fairies tapping on windows,

But with this night,

Comes a peculiar scratch on my car,

That wasn’t there before.

Perhaps it is they

Playing a joke they can get away with,

Melting away without explanation.

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