Before da winter freeze, 

A guard'n of harvest is set, 

So poachers don’t steal a future.

But all must face unconscious fears first,

So dos stories do not linger as long curse.

Fables are felt unlived in shared imagination,

In dos darkest nights awake, mind a’dream'n,

Unravel'n in networks need'n an airy breath'n,

So dat a Pumkinhead can root in fresher airy dirt.

And so, tread light, cause:

“Creepers and peepers,

I'z has been so haunted, 

By shadows in wetfields,

And Ima very unminded,

That I'z might just occult!”