I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
Even wisemen dare to try
Reason’s gambrels to enchain

Though,
When this pulp falls on the leaves
And by liters floods the streets
We shall dance under these drops
While we sing grotesque swift songs

I can picture pumpkin rain
Falling from October’s sky
We no longer can remain
Dry

Tragic corpses,
Memories of yore,
Withered float
Upon swelled brine;

Limbs regress
By night to my shore
And by morn
Few ribbons of flesh

Far many of them
(Which shalt never take place)
Stranded last night
Idle, lapsed and inert

Now cometh recollecting
The scraps of this gore
Take sail to high seas
With a mast and the winds.