Mystical night of chants, magic of utmost powers,
invisible veil lifted, 'tween their world and ours.
The night for incantations, casting about spells,
dead walk among us, a brief reprieve from Hell.
Reunited with their tribes, families, and clans,
celebrating the witching hour, among mere man.
Torches are lit, on a downward spiraling wall,
guiding the dead, at cock's crow, one and all.
Tales told by each, they feast, sitting 'round a table,
tales of raids on the underworld, and heroes of fable.
Ancient rituals performed, in order to honor the dead,
they dance, sway, 'round the fires glow of bloody red.
Chants to the spirits, sent for the weary, and forlorn,
time of celebration, and when the deceased are reborn.
At dawn's intrusive break, the rituals are disbanded,
another year they wait, for dead to become enchanted.
