The willows weep and whip the air –
the werewolves skulk to the affair,
scarecrows creep down from their posts
and subtly fix their ragged coats.
The draculas, the frankensteins
don lovely masks and sip their wines,
the grist of flesh brings ghosts and ghouls
and spring-heeled Jack and other fools
show up to dance and jump and sing
and drink and laugh or have a fling
with succubi or vampire’s bride
somewhere beyond the fireside.

But the devil stalks the sum of it
and whate’er is passed, he takes a hit,
and grins and jokes and drinks his fill
or feasts on burgers from the grill
until the hour waxes long
and the party ceases going strong:
the mummy slumbers on the floor
and couples file through the door
muttered love from fiend to freak
and tomorrow,
the world returns to the meek.