Night of the Restful Dead

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Night of the Restful Dead

Halloween, when the dead don’t walk,
The wraiths don’t keen and the sprites don’t stalk,
The shades don’t slink, nor devils prowl,
The vamps don’t drink, nor werewolves howl.

Halloween, when the dead stay dead,
The walls aren’t green and the sheets aren’t red,
And physics’ laws still reign supreme –
We’ve got no cause, yet still we scream.

Halloween, when the ghoul-less roam,
Or sleep serene in their haunt-less homes –
We walk this night with carefree airs,
And won’t take fright, nor whisper prayers.

Halloween, when the kids raise Hell –
It’s always been within their spell.
They may look gaunt, but fake their gore –
They only haunt from door-to-door.

Halloween, when the pumpkins smile,
And folks convene in a gothic style –
With tongue-filled cheeks and boozy breath,
They dress as freaks and laugh at Death.

Halloween, when the graves aren’t stirred,
The ghosts aren’t seen nor the banshees heard.
Yet still we fret by thinking dumb
When we forget how far we’ve come.

Halloween, when the mind plays tricks,
And the silver screen gives us frights for kicks.
For this one night, let’s dig suspense –
Just don’t lose sight of our common sense.

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