Taken from the poem Halloween Night by Denise M. Cocchiaro 
 
When days grow short and nights get cold 
And autumn trees turn red and gold, 
Move, we may, through sun drenched days 
'Midst leaves and berries and bales of hay. 
 
In our hearts we feel the lure 
Toward darkness, shivers, and things not pure, 
While ghostly shadows creep slowly by, 
Spying on witches and brooms that fly. 
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