The silent knocker.
Chuckling merrily to herself,
the old woman weaved her spell.
Cauldron lit and bubbling,
pumpkins glowing well.
Her entire house a movie set,
suspended bats and mist.
Cob webs sprayed from wall to wall,
let them come she hissed.
Clutching tightly a bag of candy,
she waited patiently.
Yet not one child did knock her door,
the hour now late, t’was not to be.
They found her hanging from a beam,
her loneliness too much to bare.
Below her feet the bag of sweets,
unopened, a tribute to despair.