The moon, a misty slither,
Turned her head,
The earth's a quiver
Beneath her orb of grey.
When Graves did heave
Upon the night
Called Hallows Eve.
Mushroom white
Skulls appeared
Bones, with dirt
And moss adhered
Arose with click and clack
On gravestones
Meant to hold them back.
One night a year
In which to dance
And touch your shoulder
lf by chance
You happen by and disbelieve.
They'll poke your eyes
And pull your sleeve,
Lead you dancing,
to the grave.
Entrails from gut
They ripped and tore
are dripping now
From grinding maw
Then never more
Shall you be seen,
For a step too far,
on Hallow E 'n
-- 2007, Wilkenson