Sister Samhain

My sister's home is quaint and has a chill.

The winds echo the voices of our past.

When I arrive they come and shreak and shrill.

I journey once per year; it never lasts.

She always lights her hearth for me and you.

She starts the kettle, keeps the stove turned on.

She knows my favorite vegetables for stew.

We feast amongst the departed 'til dawn.

While we all dance, the phantom children roam,

to spread their tricks and gather all their treats.

And every year I dread the journey home;

I beg my Sister let me stay and sleep.

The sun arises, and she's set my bed.

Until next year's gala amongst the dead.