Wet Toes on Hallows’ Eve

Where to go on a night such as this?

Damp is dripping rhythmically
To the thundering, threatening organ,
Infiltrating silent grounds.

Wind is drying wet stones standing
Round and round which leaves are twirling,
Rushing, crossing my way down.

Quick steps echo in the open,
Clinging to uncanny sound,
Falter, cease. Then hasten back

To take off my shoes and dry my wet toes.

© jsmorgane (Oct 2004)

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