A feverish dream under the phantom twilight,
The tiny hamlet rests on a colossal pumpkin,
The gargantuan bulbous emerges every Hallow’s Eve
Carrying with it an ominous kin,
The Pumpkin Folk are eccentric & gaunt,
From Dainty Betty to Growling Bob,
They speak very little, eyes bloodshot,
Bent on making menacing faces on Jack-O-Lanterns,
The air sweetens as they carve & peel,
Until an unfamiliar gallop draws near,
The headless rider with an ethereal glow knows no halt,
His battle charge mocks the very tempest Nature spawned,
Terror looms over the Pumpkin Folk but their Elder came forth,
‘Oh Great Fiend, what is it you seek?’

*******! Your pumpkin island looked smaller up North
Guess the perfect head will have to wait