On the Eve of All Hallow’s fright
In the wax of the moon’s orange light
A pumpkin was born.
Then dawn brought the morn
And with it the end of night.
A simplistic sequence of events
Expected without consequence,
But not for that sprout
Who hadn’t a doubt
He would perish before Winter was spent.
Oh, what a frightful thought –
To be germinated for naught!
Since every gourd’s dream
Pointed towards Halloween
As the highest purpose they’ve got.
Yet here lay our poor late bloomer
Doing his best to hold back bad humor
At knowing he’d die –
Reach that patch in the sky
And regret being born not one hour sooner.
Most would chalk up his moment as passed,
But our pumpkin would not say, “Alas!”
And instead with resolve
He refused to dissolve
Until Halloween returned at last.
As November swiftly arrived
He shriveled a smidge just to hide
At the feet of dead trees
Among same-colored leaves
From folks wanting to stuff him in pie.
He learned how he might reach his goal:
Use a greenhouse to weather the cold!
So a letter he wrote
To that Toyman of note
And mailed it off to the North Pole.
Snow came to cover the ground,
Blanketing farmland to sound –
But our Jack-O to-be
And the house of his dreams
In that whitescape could nowhere be found.
When Spring came to thaw off the ice
The farmers were struck with surprise
At the pumpkin revealed –
Its fate not quite sealed,
Pushing past its expected demise.
But the cold had taken a toll –
Left it withered and slithered by mold
But, thanks to this rot,
Farmers decided to not
Bother trying to get this gourd sold.
Still its fame increased cross the land
As Summer brought down its hot hand –
While it grew great in size
More hideous to the eye
And its hourglass never spent sand.
When October’s approach was nigh,
All came to the farm just to spy
That impressive fruit
To whom Nature was moot
And its dream helped it outlast the sky.
A year’s worth of rotting in place
Made it spookier – not a disgrace.
So, with no carving needed,
Our natural Jack-O greeted
Halloween with a smile on its face.