Life and death entwined.

Dancing beneath the harvest moon,

pumpkin red surrounded by a golden hue.

Taking turns they leap and writhe,

moving to the music of a disjointed tune.

Making merry while the midnight chill rises,

bringing forth a bone rattling sound

that catches my ear

as I lay restless in my bed.

The dread of merriment by two so unlikely messengers,

means but one thing only.

The time weighs near for winter to appear.