The Evil Spirit – Poem

The Sun peeked through the leaves
As we went for our final walk.

In ways more than one,
Difficult were the ways.

We were not to know,
but then we always were never to know anything.

Silently we trotted towards our end,
As always expecting a treasure.

Sweet words, Sweet Treats,
None so any better now.

Maybe they are not meant to be,
But if they were, these shouldn’t be.

Live it all up a little,
For many moons of the spirit
May come and go all across
Never to be an evil spirit on the trees.

Photo by Tobias Keller on Unsplash

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