Oct 2014
The dried fall leaves swirling in a tornado
in the frigid october air
The Old oak tree branches whispering to one another
In a crickity Old time language
The Witches brewing brews
in their black at night cauldrens
The Wolves and monsters howling
In the light of the Harvest Moon
Oh How I cant wait
For Old Hollow Eve's Return
in the frigid october air
The Old oak tree branches whispering to one another
In a crickity Old time language
The Witches brewing brews
in their black at night cauldrens
The Wolves and monsters howling
In the light of the Harvest Moon
Oh How I cant wait
For Old Hollow Eve's Return
this poem popped into my head a few weeks back when I was helping my mother on her paper route, the trees were creaking in the wind and the leaves were blowing around in the street and this just popped into my head..
