Midnight Haunts
As the frigid night wind blows
and howls all through the dark sky
spirits walk - everyone knows -
while bats and bugs flutter by.
Witches bring their broomsticks out
and, cackling, go for a ride
through the cold air, roundabout,
upwards, downwards, to the side.
A watchful moon gleams pale gold
surrounded by tiny eyes
which look at all, young or old,
who wander ‘neath the haunted skies.
Branches scrape, wood upon wood,
creaking and trying to reach,
to entangle - if they could -
the fright behind an owl’s screech.
January 17, 2000