They tread a trail in single file
A ghostly walk without a sound
Passing headstones of the long lost
Where stories wait a distant sound
Crunching leaves and snapping twigs
A cold air evening gasp
Proposing deals as now congeals
Its auguring guttural rasp
Iciness on Jack Frost fingers
A rising shadow night completes
Moonlight shade a muddy glade
Making choices trick or treat
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