Softly in the night

There are whispers that do fright,

Witches hunt and laughter cackles

Ghouls greet the impish jackals,

Underneath the gravesites grown

A life of once-gone laughter thrown,

Ghosts with eyes of black shall jump

Goblins made of mire thump.

A'drawing in the party comes

Made of sticks and threaded thumbs,

These creatures walk in their despair

No longer left to life's clear air,

And all that's heard in every sight

Is dead whispers through the night.