In the clear, crisp air of All Hallow's Eve,
there's magic brewing in the stories we weave.
The black cat's smile hides a witch's grin,
and you'll never know where your pumpkin has been.
The smirk that crawls o'er his bright orange face,
sings of secret plans in a dark gathering place.
At least, you think, that's what he's trying to hide,
didn't you, yesterday, leave him on the porch's east side?
This morning he rests on the westernmost edge,
Watching the sun's descent, why does that fill you with dread?
The silky, black feline winding circles 'round your feet,
mews softly in rhythm to the wind's moaning beat.
The thumping of tree limbs against the wooden fence gate,
drum out a message, you're sure, of your horrible fate.
The scratching of twigs against your window's dark pane,
like bony witch-fingers, claw at your brain.
Only one thing to do on this most horrible night,
to survive, in one piece, the most dreadful of plights,
While the spookies are gathering at the haunted, dark glade,
don your cleverest guise and join the parade.