The Little Cottage

She’s a pretty little cottage with a pretty picket fence She snuggles in the forest where the trees grow tall and dense A gravelled path runs by her so the mailman can deliver But nothing gets delivered now, since something made him shiver The pretty little cottage isn’t pretty all the time Something happens anytime no sun nor moon does shine It’s only meant to happen on those starless, moonless nights When logic takes a hike and someone turns out all the lights Only owls and bats and big eyed creatures get to see What happens when this happens in low visibility The ivy, bramble and the nettle overrun the walls While cobwebs fill the window frames to tuneless, haunting calls Inside in total darkness something dead and awful moans But no one, once the sun goes down, should hear these ghoulish groans Of course its true that in the daytime our sun never dips But neither should the mailman come… during an eclipse * But no one really knows what happened on that dark, dark day The quacks and all the analysts could never make him say He muttered that he listened to the chorus of the lark And then repeated these two words, “The dark, the dark, the dark!” * So when the light returns and all the weeds and cobwebs clear And there’s no mailman there to tell you to what there is to fear Then anyone who ventures through the trees so tall and dense Will find a pretty cottage with a pretty picket fence.