Jack-O-Lanterns flicker light
in the darkness of the night;
ghostly wisps of fog roll by,
haunting sounds fill the sky
with an eerie, mournful tune
as shadows blanket o’er the moon.
Black cat arches with a hiss
sensing something is amiss,
echoes ride upon the wind
telling tales of where they’ve been
bringing with them musty scents
of witches brew with strange contents.
Hush, then screech, the night is mad
with strange creatures, oddly clad.
Through the darkness, creeping slow,
then with a sudden dart they go,
on this night called Hallowe’en
when nothing is quite what it seems.
oct 2002
© Janet Reid
