With harvest safely gathered in

This Hallows Eve, the dead will rise,

To haunt the homes of kith and kin

With echoes of the banshee’s cries.

 

Then fearful folk will all withdraw,

And leave outside their sacred gift;

Remaining safe from tooth and claw

Of spectral shades who cross the rift.

 

Deep in the throes of Samhain’s night,

When terror pounds the panicked breast,

In vivid streaks of jagged white

Troll lightning cracked from east to west.

 

Then in the coruscating light,

Misshapen shadows seem to writhe,

As wandering witch and wraith and wight

Escape the reaper and his scythe.

 

Then through the mist the sun appears,

To sweep away the devil’s spawn,

As shadow from the forest clears,

Now welcoming the light of dawn.