The Halloween Witch, a poem by Sky Taylor

Pointy nails clamped tight 'round a caldron spoon,

Broomstick longs for a ride against the Harvest moon.

The late October air is cool, night sky pitch black,

Costumed children skirmishing below, hands on sack.

'Trick or Treat' rings through the Halls of the Night,

For Halloween means thrills, delight and frivolous fright.

Witch pauses her broomstick and slows her ride,

A slow, sly smile stitching across her wrinkled hide.

The children gaze up as the wicked laugh escapes,

Rooted to the spot, with little mouths agape.

Watching in wonder, witch jets from the scene,

Creating an unforgettable, magical Halloween.

So if you're about on October thirty-first,

Keep eyes peeled for a sudden burst,

For the witch she flies against the Harvest moon.