After a time lost,

beneath all those festive veils,

we dawn masks and ride.

Caravaning late,

inbetweeners seek escape

under autumn’s moon.

Deep in a graveyard,

idling near forgotten ones,

we lift the spirits.

Stuck between seasons,

frost-bound to enduring blooms,

time moves us slowly.

One day, we’ll grow old

and depart with our costumes

for a final time.

But just for tonight,

we’ll find solace and mischief

with grins like pumpkins.

Thank you for reading this edition of The Morning Owl. If you liked what you saw here, it would be please leave a like, subscribe, leave a comment, and share this degenerate’s blog to other sentient folk with internet access. Until we meet again, drink plenty of water and take care.