When the clock strikes twelve and people are sleeping, <br />there comes the sound of crying and weeping, Our souls come out for a glance and a dance <br />and if we awaken at midnight, by chance, <br />we're frightened out of our wits at the sight of this <br />most bizarre spectacle . . . around midnight. This sometimes is known as the witching hour. <br />These souls bounce about and try to devour our <br />feelings of joy and the sweetest of dreams, and <br />always, just about midnight, it seems. They play on our heads and taunt us and haunt us. <br />These poor tortured souls who are lonely and <br />aimless, who appear around midnight and ruin our <br />sleep, but we own them forever, <br />They're ours to keep.<br /><br />Gretchen Kane<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/around-midnight/
