O, the Witching Hour is striking
And the moon is riding high
Come, Peter Pan, from Neverland
And teach me how to fly!
Well, I’m old enough to be your mum
But please don’t pass me by
It’s been my dream to make your scene
Since I was two feet high
And I was wearing green when I was just a gleam
In my father’s bright green eyes!
Now backwards ticks the Witching Clock
To little — —
My father held me spellbound
With the stories he would tell
His all-star casts each night appeared
Ere fast asleep I fell
His “Birthday Brownies” came each year
To bless and wish me well
How those magic tales forever
In my memories will dwell!
O, now I am a woman
Weaving stories of my own
My Welsh and English forbears
At this pastime truly shone
The Scots and Danes in my family tree
Could no less hold their own
My dear ancestral Muses
Pray, accept this gift of song
For in my spirit and my heart
Your legacy lives on!
Come, all ye Children of the Earth
And surely you will find
That every hour’s a Witching Hour
When magic’s in your mind
A golden opportunity
For treasures to be won
And if your clock should strike thirteen
You’ll know you’ve just begun!
And if your clock should strike thirteen
You’ll know you’ve just begun!
