It is after midnight,

The clock has struck twelve,

The air has grown thin,

All is quiet,

Yet one cannot sleep.

He is awake.


The boy was not tired,

He was wide awake,

His brain was at work,

While his heart was asleep,

His fingers moved without his knowledge

Words formed on his page.


It was after midnight,

Magic was in the air,

It was after midnight,

That the hand did something amazing.

It was after midnight,

That a story wrote itself.