Have a Haunting Hallowe'en

It begins with a shiver, a stir in the breeze.
You bravely joke, Someone's walking over my grave!
But there's a tingle up your spine,
and the whine of a dog that isn't there,
which, perhaps, you imagined.

It continues with a whisper, you can't make out.
You boldly joke, I'm hearing voices!
But the hairs on your arm stand on end
and you feel the touch of a hand that isn't there,
which, perhaps, is all in your mind.

Then you remember, it's Hallowe'en,
and you think of everyone you've ever known
who is no longer here. And you wonder.
But you know in your heart, that if there are ghosts,
souls, who didn't hurt you in life, why should they start now?

And you hang on to those Ifs,
and tell yourself, No-one's walking over my grave.
And I never hear voices!
And it ends with the hoot of an owl, the glimpse of a bat:
nature at work in the night, when it's dark. And that's that.

© Celia Warren 2016