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Poem

In twilight's grasp, the whispers creep, 
Through shadows where the old trees weep. 
The Halloween tree, gnarled and bare, 
With branches twisted, a spectral snare.

Under its limbs, the spirit stays, 
In flickering lights, lost in a haze. 
Jack o'lanterns grin with wicked glee, 
Yet those who linger, never free.

A tale of a girl named Elise, 
In search of screams, her heart's release. 
She danced through graves, with friends in tow, 
Not heeding the warnings of the wisping glow.

"Gather 'round," a voice did croon, 
"Stay for a while, beneath the moon.
" Lured by laughter, they strayed too near, 
But the tree, it hungered, it sensed their fear.

The air grew cold, the shadows swelled, 
In the heart of the night, the forest felled. 
Elise faced the tree, her heart a drum, 
"Is this our fate? Are we all done?"

With a rustle and rumble, branches reached, 
Grabbing hold of the souls it'd breached. 
Fleshless hands, with a chilling grasp, 
As laughter faded, their voices gasped.

One by one, they slipped away, 
Into the dark where phantoms lay. 
Now at dusk, on Halloween's eve, 
The tree grins wide, with its webs of greed.

So, heed the tale of the Halloween tree, 
Where no soul wanders, ever free. 
For laughter lingers, but shadows remain, 
In the haunted woods, forever in chains.

And thus, it stands, in silence deep, 
A guardian of secrets that it keeps. 
Elise and her friends, in the earth confined, 
Trapped in the whispers that the tree designed.

For in this wood, where the lost are claimed, 
The Halloween tree, its hunger never sated. 
And should you wander, when the night is long, 
Remember Elise, and the tree's dark song.

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