The end of October
when the dead reappear
Nothing to dread
but everything to fear.
Creeping about at the
hour of the pearl.
Dip your toe in the trail
let your toes curl.
Chains, heavy chains
drag across the floor
Rusty keys turn
in keyholes in the door.
Broomsticks, bats, they all come out
Tricks , pointed hats
spiders, things to make you scream
Nothing now will be and
things are not what they seem.
Get those rabbit feet and hang them high
Because there are ghosts and things we dread
and they will be draped across your sky.