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Poem

Tis All Hallows Eve,
When all witches weave,
Their best incantations and spells;

And stories are told,
Of curses of old,
And places where spirits may dwell.

The legends are many,
That make the knees shimmy,
And the hairs stand up on your neck;

But none are more scary,
No tales are more hairy,
Than the story of Emma Jean Beck.

Seems the lady in question,
Liked to keep the boys guessin'.
She'd promise but never deliver.

Long as no one got hurt,
It was fun to just flirt,
And set all their young hearts a-quiver.

Until one fine day,
Two children at play,
Saw something a-float in the river;

And closer inspection,
Left no further question,
T'was Emma minus her heart and liver.

There was an inspection,
All who knew her were questioned,
Save for one man she'd not give her time.

T'was to him alone,
That she'd never shown,
Any interest for he was too shy.

Too quiet and tame,
The thought was inane,
She'd be seen with this little guy.

They searched all around,
But they never found,
A single suspect who fit.

Not a single man,
They called to the stand,
Fit the scene one single bit;

And on Halloween,
A light could be seen,
In a glade just outside of town.

Where the quiet young man,
Had built a deer stand,
And there his prey he brought down.

As he sat by the fire,
He could feel his ire,
Subside as the meat cooked down.

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