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Halloween Stafford
On All Hallows Eve, the Witches fly,
Ghosts will spook and Goblins spy,
Kids will dress as scary things,
Not tonight the fairy with glitter wings,
Amidst the hustle and bustle of treating,
Of children calling, loudly greeting,
There sits a figure, await on guard,
On concrete stoop, on cold stone hard.
In place of ears, grotesque lumps,
In place of feet, misshapen humps,
Eyes shine bright, beacons of fire,
His ceaseless watch will never tire.
Children pass, afraid to glance,
Scared it may attack by chance,
This ugly beast, this dreadful freak,
Dripping teeth, foul breath reek.
Until a small Witch trips and falls,
Attracted by her painful calls,
The Monster moves, it lurches down,
To where the child sits with her frown.
A look of horror, she starts to cry,
Teardrops fall from skyblue eye,
She reaches for her lost broomstick,
As huge pink tongue begins to lick.
With giggles the Witch begins to rise,
Helped by the Monster, half her size,
No evil beast, this creature droll,
But Staffordshire dressed up as Troll.
A weaving walk, unsteady feet,
He helps her walking down the street,
His owner looks from window bright,
A shock! Her dog nowhere in sight!
What to do? She begins to call,
But answer there is none at all.
Just as her heartbeat starts to sting,
From inside house there sounds a ring.
A voice speaks, deep, rich and low.
"Sarah, just thought you'd like to know."
Close to her ear she holds the phone.
"your Buster just brought Katie home!"
by Elise Thomas
