The Thing
On a rare autumn night
Against the strongest wind
Came a lengthening of chin
With a hideous grin.
One shoulder hunched up
While string fingers turned goldie
It clutched enough meadow
To turn pumpkins moldy.
Then it hung for awhile
On a creaking gate post
And shadowed the yard
With the face of a ghost.
From 2013 / Autumn Poetry: A Collection for the Season
Photo: Pixabay

