All Hallow’s Eve
‘Tis from the hollow, mists arise
To drift beneath the autumn skies,
To usher in a dark surprise –
The night of righteousness’ demise.
Upon the rising moon they spread,
Like shrouds upon the waking dead,
The trappings of a silver bed,
From which all evil things are bred.
When wind blows through the barren trees,
There spreading as some foul disease,
There piping fearful melodies
Of never-ending tragedies,
When mischief-laden fingers snatch
The pumpkins frosted in the patch,
And in them fires of brimstone light,
And make the souls of darkness bright,
When ghouls awaken in their graves,
When vampires burst forth from their staves,
When fleshless bones arise to war,
And venture from perdition’s store,
When banshees howl out from the mire,
When werewolves sing their wicked choir,
When ghostly rites all souls inspire,
And magic sets the moon on fire,
When wake the monsters yet untold,
When zombies march the open road,
When demons lurk beyond the gate,
And darkness holds a dreadful fate,
Then know the night of doom is here,
The dawn of everlasting fear,
The opening of an evil door –
All Hallow’s Eve has come once more.
“All Hallow’s Eve!” The beasties cry.
On Hallow’s Eve, the witches fly.
On Hallow’s Eve, hell’s creatures spy.
On Hallow’s Eve, all good things die.
~ Daniel F Mitchell
A pumpkin patch is a magical plot,
A lush supernatural garden spot,
Where goblins and ghouls meet to masquerade
As plain orange pumpkins out on parade.
A pumpkin patch is a rendezvous place,
Where summer disappears without a trace,
And autumn turns down a dark, narrow lane,
To hide in vines on a parallel plane
With all of the past seasons come and gone
To their final spring on a wizen lawn.
A pumpkin patch is paradise on earth,
A haven for friendless spirits to roam,
To which all drifters are destined from birth,
A home for ghosts who never found a home.
Come, lonely wanderers, rest from your day.
Rolling, rustling, leaves will show you the way
To gather together with a drear host,
And join in chorus with the silent throng.
When some night, I become a lonely ghost,
I will haunt a pumpkin patch the night long.
~ Daniel F Mitchell