Written October 27, 1982

By Lisa Huddleston

On All Hallow’s Eve, when the ghosties dance ’round,

And Witches their broomsticks do fly ‘cross the moon,

Hide ‘neath your covers and don’t make a sound

Or you’ll meet the Bump-In-The-Night making goon.

The wind’ll start howling.  The trees crack and groan.

The rattle of chains’ll be heard from above.

Creaks from the hinges say you’re not alone.

Then suddenly–you’ll feel the touch of a glove.

Your skin will shrink from the start of that touch.

Your knees, they will shake.  Your heart, it will quake.

You’ll start to fear that the scare is too much,

When glad laughter will the fright from you take.

As your eyes adjust, two smaller you’ll meet.

They’ll impishly smile and ask, “Trick or treat?”

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