'Tis a chilly night on the Oregon Coast
Beneath a moonless sky~~
Black clouds keep pace in a mindless race
Where even the owls don't fly.
Away up there in the ice-crisp air
Where hardly a star makes light~~
A spirit flits, on her broom she sits
She howls as she makes her flight.
Her spooky hair is fine and pale
Her countenance seems quite cold~~
Then again she wails-Through the clouds she trails
She's neither young nor old.
A coal black cat with a peaky hat
Rides behind her on her broom.
She swoops down, o'er the dusty town
All in silence like a tomb.
No critter noise, no girls, no boys
Bent trees all seem to lean~~
She holds her breath; she's still as death
Tomorrow is Halloween!
(Copyright)JL Bailey
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