On Halloween, the witches ride,
with black cats and pumpkin pie.
The ghosts arise from their beds
For today they are the un-dead.
Tricks and Treats are all around.
People everywhere, party bound.
But none dare speak of their fright
at seeing the dead walk this night.
For in the morning all is gone
Washed away by the rising sun.

Neal Tibrewala 10/30/85

This was my first ever piece of poetry. I wrote it as an assignment in the fourth grade when I was only eight years old.  It actually received a failing grade because my teacher didn't believe that I had written it; I swear I didn't get help from my mother!