All Hallows Eve

All Hallows Eve,
and a lean wind sweeps
the last withered leaves
from the street,
leaves them heaped by weathered walls--
against this gray stone wall.

There is no treat,
only trick of light
and cold gray stone
and I am alone
when the Lost Ones come,
tiny wisps in the night
singing their songs of joy.

I never heard them laugh
or cry--
never said goodbye,
only gripped the empty place
that cradled them,
screaming “Why?”,
and kept on walking,
kept on,
one foot,
then the next,
till the years were spent
and I found this place
among the stones,
crumbling withered leaves in my hand.

All Hallows Eve
and the cringing light
of the dying year
shudders in a chilling wind
and every trace of green and fire
is swallowed up in murky doubt
when I sit alone
among these stones
and the Lost Ones come,
tiny wisps in the night,
singing their songs of joy.


I wrote this poem for my babies who died before they were born. Most of them died in the fall...a sad season.