The sky is thick in strips of straw,
And smells of flying witches,
Children’s ears can hear their calls,
And see their warts and twitches.
The streets are full of zombies,
With blank stares in their eyes,
Broken tooth grins to scare me,
Through screaming victims’ cries.
I think you best stay in tonight,
I might just do the same,
Or find a shiny armored knight,
To protect you from their games.
Ronald Whetsell's Creative Writing and Poetry Blog 