Black Country Bugle
As Hallowe’en approaches near The pumpkins from their patch Have many faces as they peer From field and bale, and batch.
Some will smile and some will frown And light up all around the town Some will look so whole and hearty Getting ready for a party.
Whilst those who quietly await Might be a pumpkin pie to bake.
The harvest time, when reaping, sowing Will magic in the spells be flowing. Mingling with the plough, so busy Abracadabra, izzy wizzy, Until the dreams of each Hallowe’en face Disappear without a trace.
And the scarecrow in his wizard’s hat and cape Conjures up spells for a pumpkin cake As he tries to scare the crows He knows where the magic goes.
At harvest time with the furling furrow The squirrel, barnyards and each burrow Mystic are the wishing wells At Hallowe’en, and all its spells