i spot the hills
with yellow balls in autumn.
i light the prairie cornfields
orange and tawny gold clusters
and i am called pumpkins.
on the last of october
when dusk is fallen
children join hands
and circle round me
singing ghost songs
and love to the harvest moon;
i am a jack-o-lantern
with terrible teeth
and the children know
i am fooling
No comments:
Post a Comment