Around the field he lay,
had nothing hardly to say,
nothing really to do,
his life mostly blue.
Watching as they passed,
smiling when they crashed.

One day he was not there,
no one really did care,
he was just another pumpkin,
a big orange head of nothing,
smothered in soil,
a product of a farmer toil.

In the window he sat,
a new home with the black cat,
the witches spell,
pumpkin head now was in hell.
During the day,
only a head of play,
On Halloween night,
a pumpkin of fright.
The witches ally,
drawing little
children by,
then in the
witches
pot
to
fry.

G

Happy Halloween all.