Cold,
eerie tales are terror-torn About a night, grey, dark, forlorn.
From out the mouths of simple folk While runic blessings they
invoke.
Black
winds rush by in wild protest
Bespeaking spirits of long unrest. Sepulchers disgorge their
hosts 'Tis Hallowe'en, the Eve of Ghosts.
The silver
moon on fear-tossed seas Glares hungry down through grasping
trees. The fires are lit, the Rites to weave And prayers to
pray this Hallow's Eve.
