A trio of witches surround the bubbling brew,
On this eve there is much ado.
As their cauldron boils and hisses,
Vampires give their dark kisses.
Ghosts swirl ‘round across the room,
Unleashed from their unholy tomb.
Wolves, once men, howl at the moon,
Wreaking terror since well past noon.
While the humans hide in their beds,
Writer’s Cramp hosts its Sweet Sixteen among the dead.
Witches make soup, while vampires get romantic,
And ghosts and wolves write mediocre fanfic.
Always thought to be strange folk,
Writers are even more strange behind their screen of smoke.
So they gathered for this feast,
To celebrate the ways writing makes them feel complete.