On a day when the 31st October hit an astonishing 20 degrees Centigrade here in East Anglia, I bring you this poem...
It was a balmy All Hallows Eve
When the spirits began to appear
Peering warily round in the sunshine
As if they shouldn’t be here.
The ghost looked askance at her shift
All grey and tattery lace
“I don’t feel decent,” she muttered
And soaped herself in the mill race.
The skeleton scrubbed at his mildew
The zombies sunbathed and crumbled
The golems warmed up nicely
“Why go out?” the witches grumbled.
Ghouls floated like bunting
Across the pub garden
Banshees swigged cider
And lazily gargled. (*gargoyled?*)
The spectre inspector
Gave up in despair
As the vampires took afternoon tea
In their lair.
And the tricks were all treats
And the treaters serene