The Pumpkin’s Fate

Coronation of crop,

harvest reigns supreme.

Leaves crisp on ground,

as season does swing.

Colours swirl in dance,

against natures song,

whilst pumpkin does stand,

proudly boasting tall.

But security is false;

a fool’s misbelief.

Fate awaits the pumpkin;

soon it shall bleed.

Not stew, nor soup,

or even tasting sweet.

It’s the cold sharp blade,

the pumpkin first meets.

Steel knife circles crown,

carving through the skin.

Then tugged with a giggle,

dispels contents within.

A grimace cut smile,

eyes haunted in sight.

But humiliation is not over;

inside there shall be light.

This pumpkin is defaced,

left dismantled in state.

For Halloween has landed,

sealing, the pumpkin’s fate.

©Brett Kristian 2018

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23 thoughts on “The Pumpkin’s Fate

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