Stories at midnight
What stories do you tell your grandson
Who wants newer and newer ones to be told?
The stock of mythology is soon spent,
Adventure stories you were brought up on
Hardly enthuse him,
When you go autobiographical
You find little to excite even you,
Your days in the Army
Were preparing forever for a war
You were never for,
You cannot tell him
That you ran away from home to enrol
After a quarrel with your father.
As you make up another hotch-potch story
Smiling at the faithful listener
Eyes still shining bright, though it is past midnight
You wonder if your ill-tempered sire
Had someone like this to watch over him
And keep the ghosts away before the sleep angels arrived.
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