The pumpkin man strode through the night,
His eyes were fire, he looked a fright,
His ragged legs of inky black,
His scarecrow hat, his smile so slack,
His crooked grin, his flaming eyes,
His tattered coat and striding thighs.
And as wan moon began to shine,
Dead things began to creep and dine,
And witches’ cats and leaping lizards,
Sucked fireflies down their grizzled gizzards,
And graves yawned forth, spewed up their dead,
Some missing flesh, some missing heads,
And goblins gathered on garden walls,
While ghosts were seen in moonlit halls,
And children huddled in their beds,
With blankets clutched above their heads,
While pumpkin men patrolled the night,
And drew a veil ’twixt dark and light,
And babes slept soundly till the dawn,
With a pumpkin man on their front lawn.
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved