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.