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Look at the pretty sky.
Such beauty way up high.
Clouds drifting by so slowly
Like a shrine to what’s holy.
All of this will soon come to an end.
Don’t bother to search for a friend.
The moon will rise up in the night sky
Into the danger from what lurks high.
Dark shadows will descend onto the sand.
Shrieking louder than a marching band.
What do they want from our peaceful town?
Death and mayhem–all served with a frown.
Run for your life if you still can.
A danger for each and every man.
The Dead are here to stay.
They didn’t come to play.
THE DEAD GAME
Love ya!
Jane
Ron
have struck more fear into the hearts of us all than
almost anything else. Spooky aftershocks of Hallowe'en
ripple through your well-crafted words.