Witches’ Night

Out where the autumn night winds blow,
Hark! There’s a footfall, stealthy slow.
Hush! Do you hear that soft tip-tap?
Oh, such a ghostly rap.
See, there’s a blue flame ‘neath the trees
Fanned by the sighing breeze,
What do you think prowls round about?
Sprites are abroad, no doubt.

Down by the pond I hear a groan,
Weird as a kelpie’s midnight moan,
Now there’s an eerie wailing howl,
Sounds like a spectral owl.
Ah, Jack-o’-lantern, just you wait,
Now I recall the date.
This is October thirty-first,
Spooks, you may do your worst.