By Linda A. Copp
Wooden swords and pirate hats
witches, goblins, long tailed cats.
dangling from small fists,
Bulging parcels tied 'round wrists.
Small masks covering eyes and face,
Hardly scaring, leaves no trace
of who the hooded child might be,
as he can barely speak or see.
Stumbling down your stairs and walk,
you hear his mumble, not his talk.
And the tricks and treats are all about,
It's the name within; the game without.
And this night, we call Halloween,
Tricks and Treats, masks of the unseen.
Big bags bulging, breaking when
masked ones tumble now and then.
But, of all the faces standing there,
Of all the masks their faces wear.
The one remembered from this Hallowed Eve
is not the gypsy teller, unbelieved,
Or the goblin haunting
through the black of night,
Nor the werewolf baying at the moon in fright.
It's not the pirate with his bag so full
of what he's gathered from me and you,
Nor the hero caped, with wings of right,
Nor the witch whose cauldrons stirred tonight.
No, of all the children, faces masked,
of all the spells witches cast,
of all the clowns and goblins seen,
the one remembered from this frantic scene
is the child who stands there, unmasked, free
on this hollow, hallowed hour,
Yes, recognized on this haunting eve,
tripping down the walk to leave,
is the child and face escaping thus,
most beloved this one to us.
On Halloween or any time.
You love the child you know as thine.
On Halloween or any time,
The masks, the bags,
the tricks you'll find,
Are sometimes yours
and sometimes mine!
It's SCARY TIME!
By Linda A. Copp ©
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