Ghost trees shiver
Under silent moving clouds
Creating quiet shadows
That jiggle under shrouds.
‘Ole bullfrogs grump and bellow
Because they’re in the mood
To joust for juicy crickets
They’d like to have for food.
Their silver tongues grow louder
As I tiptoe down the stairs
I ‘spect they’ve swallowed moonbeams
And ‘er chokin’ on ‘er seams.
I haste to join the waiting fun
Of anticipation’s scary fare
But ‘sted their echoes greet me
Though I still smell goblin air.