Our poetry group’s theme for this week was ‘twelve’. Here’s what I wrote:
Midnight
the witching hour
carriages become pumpkins
When the clock strikes twelve
I am fast asleep
dreaming of broomstick rides
and black cats
As I age I wonder why
the witching hour can’t be at noon?
Ruth's Reflections 
Ha, ha, that’s a great ending.
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Thank you.
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I would go for any time
Provided it made the poem rhyme
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Sometimes a rhyme has not been sought
not needing to expand the thought
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A very valid question!
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Indeed
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