time in britian

time marches on
except for here.
there's something strange
in northamptonshire.
usually fine, it all seems right
til somewhere around
seven at night.
the sky's been dark now
quite a while,
and all the faeries
start to smile;
for they know now
what time will do
(though other creatures
have not a clue).
'tween seven and two
time is a puddle
and all the creatures
are in a muddle.
but no one bothers
to check the clocks
or tries to explain
this paradox.
it seems that this
is quite alright.
its dark outside;
the time is "night."