Jack O’Lantern

Have you heard of the legend of the poor troubadour

Who enchanted your hearing while making fun of you?

His talent for music was well renowned,

But what a pity his jokes were so bland.

One night in October, when he got drunk,

Walking around town like an unskilled acrobat,

He made a mistake that he could never payback.

He made a joke about a witch's pointy hat.

In his liquor sweetened infused delight,

And without caring who else was in sight,

He told her it looked like the stem of a pumpkin

While her face was just as yellow and just as bright.

It didn’t take long for the scorn to be born

As the witch’s eyes squinted and she offered a frown.

With exercised gestures, the wand twirled in the air,

While the words that she uttered were the last ones he’d hear.

“His eyes shall be graved as he can not see much.

His head shall be hallow as he’s not very smart.

His mouth shall be stretched in a weird-looking grin,

While his teeth shall be as absent as the politeness he’s got within.”

Sparks flew high and circled the man overrun by despair.

In the blink of an eye, his majestic figure spun in the air

He shrunk to the size of a full, fleshy pumpkin

While his last expression was carved on its skin.

And this is how from an ill-fated joke,

Devised as lightly as the last words he spoke,

Spurred this tradition to keep witches at bay

By carving a companion for Old Hallow’s Day.