In ancient times, when nights grew long,
And leaves danced to a mournful song,
The Celts would gather ‘round the fire,
For Samhain’s eve, when spirits retire.
A harvest end, the year would fade,
The veil between worlds thinly laid,
The living and dead would intertwine,
As shadows stretched ‘neath oak and pine.
Bonfires blazed to keep them near,
But also to guard from what they’d fear,
For restless souls would roam the night,
Seeking warmth, or perhaps a fright.
The Romans came, they merged the lore,
With Pomona’s fruits, traditions swore,
A festival of light and dark,
Where ancient rites would leave their mark.
Through centuries, the church took claim,
And All Hallows’ Eve it came to name,
A time to honour saints now past,
Yet Samhain’s spirit held steadfast.
Turnips carved with ghastly faces,
Lanterns lit in eerie places,
To ward off ghosts from wandering by,
Or guide lost souls beneath the sky.
Now costumes, sweets, and tales of fright,
Have made it a playful, haunting night,
Yet hidden deep in autumn’s chill,
The ancient whispers echo still.
So when you don your mask and cape,
Remember the roots that took their shape,
From Celtic lands to modern scene,
The many layers of Halloween.
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