Tombstone Run

Sitting on a misted street 

With frigid wind and soaking leaves, 

The years I've roamed

The nights I've played 

Hide-n-Seek in shallow graves. 

The years draw on 

In this chilling calm, 

Where all is dead, and no one's home. 

With pumpkins lit, 

Will these wicks still hold 

To keep us from the frozen ghosts? 

Are we safe and sound 

Tucked in at home,

On a night all-souls, conjure theirs?

We'll see to the mischief – while we make our own, 

As I think of a place for the resting bones.