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