Step To The Danse Macabre! Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

The knock on the oak door echoes
(whispers and silence in the old manse)

Muffled sounds from the root cellar
(red harvest moon hangs high)

Men in soiled coveralls congregate in the yard
(the sleeping hound shudders and stirs)

Overhead Satan and legions of demons
skate by on howling winds of malice
dark against the harvest moon
gleeful and joyous as death

'Kill 'em all, I say!
Let Old Nick take his pick! '

Ruby flames flicker
and devour shacks and hovels

Corpses swing from hempen ropes

'Come frolic in autumn red!
Step to the Danse Macabre! '