The Pumpkin man

Every year, when the leaves turn brown.
The pumpkin man, comes to town.
He straddles confidently into the square.
And steals the first child sitting there.
And though this may seem mean and frightful.
We’ve come to terms, and find it delightful.
For the pumpkin man, like the Krampus in winter.
Knows which boy or girl is a sinner.
And punishes them for their terrible ways.
For their nasty manners and idle malaise.
But fear not, for he brings them back.
A little wiser, in that pumpkin sack.
But for his trouble, we all bequeath.
For him to keep the child’s teeth.
For a pumpkin man, though true and dandy.
Must go through all that Halloween candy.

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Arboretum of the mind

Those words they buried.
The thorny ones with discontent.
Maligned manners from blackened hearts.
They rotted in my mind.
In that grey earthy soil.
Those tears they watered.
Digging down deep to the black pit of my soul.
Like potatoes which found the light.
Deep in the dark such acorns of defiance sprouted.
Filling my bones with vines and life.
So now I prune, and potter.
I bask in the shade of a cooling tree.
That borne within me.
My arboretum of solitude.
My tree of life with bark as tough as nails.
And leaves that never turn, despite the season.
Or the early winter you threaten.