They prowl the darkened roadways like a plague,
all teeth and hair and indistinct contours
obscured by mists that roll in off the moors
so that only their intent is not vague--
Their tattered robes and ruined faces tell
of difficulties faced and hardships braved
like fiends that dragged themselves from ancient graves
to make your neighborhood a living hell--
You well may lock your doors and turn your keys,
but nothing will dissuade them from their haunt,
unless you give the fiends just what they want
and hope they'll grant you merciful release--
They're coming through the yard and up the street!
They're clawing at your door now--Trick or Treat!
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