The Bewitching Hour

Thirteen times they circle 'round the heat,
Hags and witches watching each
Every blown blade of grass dance

Bending before a breeze, colored drab.
'Ere the town square clock strikes twelve
Whirling widdershins, slow
Ingrained circles of rite. Clouds ski
The sky, wisps whip and tatter; cut
'Cross the moon which cuts an arc
High above the gathered clutch.
Insects inch inward toward alumni
Newly initiated into the coven.
Gazes caught by the flames igniting

Heat within each witch
Outwardly focused, channeled into
Ululations prompting spirits into impromptu,
Raucous riots throughout the town center.



A double acrostic with the occasional alliteration.