Written by Danielle E. Pasqua
Copyright © October 7, 2016
In the woods lay the burning pumpkin
With golden eyes like that of a candle
Reminding me that an early night had begun
The perfectly carved face signified something
It was time for a jacket, goodbye to sandals
Just campfire stories of ghosts and skeletons
I then picked the pumpkin up with my gloves
And felt a mist of cold, as well as a flame
I then blew the fire out with one breath
As the smoke vanished into the sky above
Tradition has no shame