They come great,

they come small –

some bearing half-face,

some pushing about floors to crawl –

few were of the festive nights' bait,

few grotesquely mauled –

witches stirred tonic groomed pots since the stroke of eight,

britches slinging to insanely men: surely they've came awol –

dear departed ones show up with squirmy bugs still roaming their breastplate,

canine snaring leers are perfectly welcomed for tonight's ball –

Course revelries wouldn't be complete without those whose livelihood is spent in a crate,

I'm hoping by breaking morning these mischief's come to a welcoming stall....

and will have been sent back for this time next year's nightfall.