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SEASON'S CREEPINGS

Posted by Bill Goodwin on 10/21/2016

For those who don't know, I practice a little tradition (infliction?) of posting a spooky poem for Greg at this time of year. Autumn frolics to haunt-o-holics, and especially to our host! THE STARS ON HALLOWEEN
by Bill Goodwin

I watch the stars on Halloween,
Like distant flakes of winter snow,
Yet all I see, or fancy seen,
Are not enough for me to know
The meaning of the smallest breath,
Or gravity of a grain of sand,
Still, autumn baffles me with death
Until I almost understand.
The night is crisp and cold and sweet.
The youngsters all have gone to bed.
The grass is wet beneath my feet.
The pumpkins gutter, wise and red.
The gourds are fresh but getting 0ld.
A week will rot them to the core.
The stars look faint but thousandfold.
Their lives might last for aeons more.
The difference doesn't seem so great.
Death still runs the house, you see.
On Halloween, when it's this late,
I think, "What would it mean to me
If all the suns should flicker out?
And every nerve knew only pain?"
The wind gets up; I want to shout
That nihilists must be insane.
For if the darkness trumps the light,
And all that burns is less than black,
Why linger over stars at night?
Or drop wax lips into a sack?
I watch the stars on Halloween,
And dream of spice and lovely pie.
If life is mad and blind and mean,
Then I must be too dead to die. *

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