The moon is like a scimitar, <br />A little silver scimitar, <br />A-drifting down the sky. <br />And near beside it is a star, <br />A timid twinkling golden star, <br />That watches like an eye. <br />And thro' the nursery window-pane <br />The witches have a fire again, <br />Just like the ones we make, — <br />And now I know they're having tea, <br />I wish they'd give a cup to me, <br />With witches' currant cake.<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dusk-in-autumn-2/
