HELP THE HALLOWEEN PARTY Dark Autumn is the season of the dead And when my doorbell rings I think I feel A little startled if not yet afraid But when I switch the light on in the hall And opening the door see just the night Glimpsing bleak roof tops under frosty stars I hear ... 'Help the Hallowe'en Party,' The low sepulchral voice beneath my chin Draws down my eyes to where the mummers stand Their stage my doorstep lighted from the hall Flaunting their shabby carnival of cast-offs And looking up with painted grins and scowls. That's when I truly feel a thrill of fear As if the infant dead rose from the clay To ape an age to which they never grew. -- Warren O'Connell