The moon, decaying, shrunken in the sky
To chilling rictus, ghastly, pallid, grim,
Grinned dimly down upon the madling group.
Their leader crept with barely hidden bones
And neat, precisely torn and tattered robes
Along the road. They jeered a ribald song
And dashed towards a door, and struck the gong
That summoned those within to meet their fate.
The gathered spirts on the doorstep howled,
Delivering their imprecations fell;
The threat of evils supernatural
Averted for a certain price... Dark hands
Reached down to place the gifts in open sacks.
The fiends, placated, laughed in high-pitched shrieks,
And turned in bounding capers 'neath the moon
To bring their bargain to the next in line...