I walked on by a graveyard, very late, alone one night.
No ghosts sprung from their moldy graves: no evil ghoulish sights.
It seemed no vampires lurked about, to sip my blood like wine.
And any hulking werewolves must have previously dined.
I watched in vain for zombies, with their gruesome, bloody stares.
But they seemed to be as plentiful, as wayward teddy bears.
Yet, I would duck behind a tree, on guard quite through and through,
At every car that passed me by . . transporting who knows who?
While I recalled what mother said, no doubt with some misgiving:
It’s not the dead you have to fear . . but watch out for the living!
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
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