Though I'm old, and can't stand cold, the window's
Calling me out. Without a cane I'll bear
The pain to glean what a woodsman knows:
To sniff a whiff of the autumnal air
Like my old dog once did, as if the scent
Was like a rose, or like a ruby glass
Of wine, walking places we once went,
Pausing by her grave, unable to pass
Without inviting her wagging ghost to walk
With me into the dusk of Halloween.
And yes, the young may grin as they talk
About the muttering old man they've seen
Prowling the twilight, but I don't care.
Me and my ghost-dog sniff night air.
HALLOWEEN SONNET
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