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It is Hallowe’en tonight
I hold a book, Stories of Fright
Scattered are some fallen leaves
And I smell pumpkins on the breeze.

The twilight bears a bitter chill
My book, too, carries frigid thrill
To think of the spirits  about
(For at this season, they are let out:

The date when death and life will meet
As truth mixes with deceit.
The children all in costume dress
To put our horrors into jest).

There’s one lone tree atop my hill:
Branches will soon be barer still,
A skeleton of springtime dead,
Its blanket snow, the world its bed.

The stories end, my reading done.
While watching Trick-or-Treaters run,
I take in the taste of autumn’s breeze
And sit near my tree amidst the leaves.