The Pumpkin Queen

 

The pumpkin queen is orange

Like the colour of her fruits

She wears a giant apron

And polished hob-nailed boots

She has a heart as big as Oceans

And helps others when it suits

The pumpkin queen is deeper than

An oak tree’s ancient roots

 

She sits in regal glory

On a throne of wood and leaves

And will animate her chosen one

As long as it believes

She has no truck with gamblers,

Nor snake oilers or thieves

But she lays her hands on dead things

Until the lost soul breathes

 

She walks the fields on Halloween

And listens for the cries

Of the final summer harvest

And the season as it dies

She will resurrect the broken things

Beneath autumnal skies

And from the ashes of bonfires

The worthy souls will rise

 

The pumpkin queen is omnipotent

And raises armies of the dead

To walk the fields of Albion

And make sure the poor are fed

She casts her spell upon the land

The soil becomes the bed

For next years crop of golden wheat

Her spells create the bread

 

The dark knights of the pumpkin queen

Walk in darkness ‘cross the land

You will not see or hear them

And you will not understand

How the broken fences mended

Or the strange bright orange brand

That appears over the barn door

the sign of her mystic hand