In mottled light of fall’s last moon
Comes now a shuffled form beraved
With halting step to eldritch tune,
A piper from an ancient grave.

By fire’s light in full revealed
A wasted form in sloven dress
Once fair ere spirit’s breath did yield
To Thanatos’ final caress.

Take heed unto thy learned wit
For madding spires the ghastly air
That ’round the nodding head doth flit
And beckons aye its pall to share.

With wordless words the piper calls
Though nought of sound withal makes he,
To join the dead in festive halls:
A dance macabre, all Hallow’s eve.