Halloween, and midnight, trick or treaters long 

since gone,

Home in bed the ghosts and ghouls and hags,

Dreaming of tomorrow and the plans to feast 

upon

Sweetmeat treats and candy in their bags

Sitting in my easy chair I poured another tear,

Childish thoughts of memories of yore,

Meditating Halloween, and children young and 

fine,

Then I heard a rapping on my door

Opening revealed a tiny witch, not three feet 

tall,

Pointed hat and warty comic nose,

Thrusting hairy chin at me she shrugged her 

witch’s shawl

“All the candy’s finished, I suppose?”

Cackling voice of unknown years, complexion 

ruddy green,

Something caused me not to be afeared,

Weensy witches late at night were not my 

usual scene,

Then I saw her wrinkled eyes were teared.

Every year’s the same” she sobbed, “I feel it 

isn’t right,

Witches can’t come out till late, you see;

We must stay in hiding till the time is past 

midnight,

Candy’s always finished -   none for me.”

Something in this minikin fair touched my 

stony heart,

Causing me to pity her this night;

Piling all the candy in my house into a bag

Watched as wizened eyes beamed with delight

“Thank you” said the little crone, then jumped 

upon her broom,

Flew away whilst mumbling runic verse,

Image still imprinted, silhouetted ‘gainst the 

moon,

Hoping hard she hadn’t left a curse.