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Those Cloven Hooves
The graveyard is brighter than usual this night
With snow tinted blue in the full moon’s light
He climbs from his grave for his Halloween walk
But cloven hoof-prints in the snow make him baulk
For right here and now on this All Hallows’ eve
Though October snow he can see and believe
He lingers aghast on that snow covered floor
Where two more hoof-prints make a tally of four
He puts down his head and it’s face is irate
As it studies the hoof-prints in snow by the gate
This night he must wander the graveyard alone
So four cloven hoof-prints he shall not condone
Two devils or maybe two mischievous imps
Cavorting and prancing like demonic chimps
But where are those two tiny demons residing
A holly bush moves, is that where they’re hiding?
Retrieving his head which he holds by its hair
He asks in a guttural voice, “Who be there?”
First comes a grunt then the mist of a breath
But no human breathes when he be in death
The juice of red berries or blood of the dead
Whatever it be it be splattered and red
He glares at those dark crimson stains in the snow
and says, “If you’ve eaten your fill you must go.”
Out from the holly a dark shadow moves
The corpse makes a count of the four cloven hooves
He says, “I’m the one who must make this night gory
So, Rudolph, you’re early, get out of my story.”
Copyright ©
Terry Flood
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