Pumpkin

kunst  : Carla Broekhuizen

ome closer, child, come take a look,

I’ll show you things they hide in books.”

The Miller boy, so small, so brave,

Stepped near the thing his parents gave.

They found his lantern, faint and low,

But not the boy they used to know.

And where his footprints met the dirt,

A tiny vine began to spurt.

Now every fall, when the moon turns thin,

A new face forms with the same old grin.

And if you listen, past the breeze,

You’ll hear it whisper through the trees—

“Come closer, child, come take a peek…

I’ve waited for you all the week.