The power is out.

A match is struck; a candle is lit.
Out of slumber yawns a little flame.

Let us sit in a circle,
and hear from old Nanny,
tales passed on by the elders,
who crouched around the first fire.

She speaks of a clay prince,
brought to life by a magic spell,
to slay a giant demon,
who lived in a kingdom far away.

The wall is an empty canvas.
It is my world to make.

They call me a little boy,
but I am a tall giant on the shadow wall.
Give me the salt and pepper mill,
they are spires to the castle I build

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