Skritching -- by request

Scratching

Perhaps you hear a faint distant scratching,
an interruption of reverie and song,
that draws on fears denied or yearning
but may be a signal of something wrong.

Is it tiny claws on cold hard stone
that tell of dark stairs and dim-lit halls;
or is it a pleading of terror
from a lost pet trapped within the walls?

“The window, the window,” you shriek
to skert inner-self more than companions,
for this high reach is thought protected
from prying eyes and perp intentions.

What dark-winged bird or furtive branch
would chance to disturb this sanctuary –
blessed haven of giggly chocolate
and bottled red passed reverently?

“Begone, away,” in spontaneous chorus,
becomes a chanting of protestation,
as slippered feet shuffle in off-beat dance
and flaying pillows release frustration.

Then the churning clouds of past twilight
protect again from the rays of dawning,
and the frost creeps once more in silence
and the garret panes tremble no warning.