Halloween Poem

Under October’s watchful, waning eye,

The village streets stir as the night unfolds,

With silver threads draped through the midnight sky,

Where echoes weave through leaves in scarlet folds.

Old doors creak open with a solemn groan,

Lanterns flicker with a ghostly glow;

Footsteps fall heavy, yet soft as a stone,

In places where the chilled winds twist and blow.

Yet halfway down the road, it shifts—an air,

A breath of magic lingers bold and bright.

No longer shadows; spirits gather there,

And fill the streets with haunting yet pure light.

The air grows still, as if it hears their calls,

In awe, I watch the ancient magic fall.