I remember as a child-
peeking over the window,
to a ticking sound,
from a pitch black cloak,
hiding a creature on the ground.
A shadow of a haunting sparrow,
with a knife atop a pole.
I simply stared and giggled,
as I felt the lifeless soul.
Unsure of what to think,
I believe I heard a voice.
Said it, "I weaved a basket."
Then left he, a silent noise.
Baffled!
The atmosphere was like scent so taint.
"The basket soon has become a case."
The words were wispy and growing faint,
like the words were sent away.
I was hesitant to follow it,
and I don't recall why I didn't.
I found myself the sturdy floor,
and my friend,
'the cloaked one' was now no more.