“No magic’s needed,” said the thaumaturge,
“Because the beams of ashen moon do seize
The airy edifice and, tethered, merge
It with the near horizon, simply stalk
It through the night. Then climb, when close enough,
A silvered ray to reach the castle walk.”
With faith renewed, the questers, slip and scuff
And stagger through the dark to argent thread
Connecting skying keep to ground. Again,
Two swollen spiders climbing overhead
Arrive at heavy, rusted gate and then
They see the glowing keys are hanging there
On brazen hook.
M. Kelly Peach Writes 