Witches weaving through the air,
whistle down from everywhere.
Swiftly moonlit clouds they sweep,
up and over, hover, peep, -
Mountains of the Moon, their keep.
Covens c[o]urse through sable sky,
looking low while flying high,
tight black bonnets nightly tie,
broomsticked, hearse head, [s]winging by,
spook suspicious, wonder why.
Toothless rag hags, hellish hair,
surreptitious sisters share
copper cauldrons cracked with wear.
Cloaked in secrets, cowled in care,
casting spells they pass, ensnare.
Wheeling round with riotous reel,
hither, thither, squeak and squeal,
seek sage souls to make their meal.
In recognition of their zeal
most ghosts homage pay, we feel
though acorns into oak may rise,
though breezes stir the moonlit skies,
though trick or treat, or pumpkin pies
may warm through time the fey surprise
of Halloween, the heart supplies
us wonder, magic everywhere,
apple cider, sweets to spare.
Upon time's river we prepare
for spiders' webs each year and dare
in peace, joy, harvest, venture prayer.
With Horsemen Four they surely reap,
down steep chimneys screeching leap, -
are the angels all asleep?
They'll be there this year I swear,
giving all good folk a scare!
23 March 1975 revised 10 July 2007