The coyotes are howling

On the hill tonight

The roosting crows

Are about to take flight

The apples on the trees

Are hanging low

Nearly touching the pumpkins

In the patch below

The moon, full,

Brightens the sky

Through the low clouds

Squeaking bats flutter by

The trees with curling bark

Whisper and moan

Guardians of the land

At their roots, gravestones