The Hag is astride, This night for to ride; The Devill and shee together: Through thick, and through thin, Now out, and then in, Though ne’r so foule be the weather. A Thorn or a Burr She takes for a… Read More ›
National Poetry Month
Each Night Father Fills Me with Dread…
Each night father fills me with dread As he sits at the foot of my bed I don’t mind that he speaks In gibbers and squeaks But for seventeen years he’s been dead. – Edward Gorey Related Posts: – The Gashlycrumb… Read More ›
The Year of Halloween 