Damp grass flutters wearily in the wet winds,
And dark clouds form across the sky.
From far and wide gathers now our kin,
Watching as the others come passing by.
Hand in hand they march along,
Figures clad in black and red.
Whilst unspoken voices raise in song,
And praise the return of the exalted dead.
Autumnal leaves crinkle on the twigs of the tree,
Serenading the watchers gathered round the land.
Chanting, “Merry ye meet, and blessed be,”
Greeting the Gods where the greats do stand.
From behind the shadows the moon begins to rise,
Casting its ephemeral glory upon the ground,
Reflecting white eternity in their eyes,
And binding tightly this harrowing sound.
For on this night when the veil is weak,
We flock together as a murder of crows.
Joining our forces, if only to seek
The unspoken answers to our deepest woes.
And so we celebrate this solstice midnight,
Jacks guiding the souls we must reign in.
And we must toast before taking flight,
To each and every, a joyful Samhain.
