Sammy is our host for the 13 days of Samhain prompts, thanks, Sammy! I did not participate in them all, but just a few, and here is my response to this one!
In the whispering wood where the moonlight fades,
A shadow hums through the silvered glades.
The air grows cold, the trees lean near—
A voice like frost says, “Prepare, my dear.”
A raven laughs on a bough half-bare,
Its eyes are lanterns, its wings—despair.
It croaks a truth in a tongue long charmed:
“The one forewarned is the one forearmed.”
A candle flickers in trembling hands,
Maps of doom in the dust and sands.
Those who scoff at the omen’s call
Find no shield when the shadows fall.
But those who listen, who mark the sign,
Who trace the chill in the twisted vine,
Walk through the dark with eyes unharmed—
For the dead respect the forearmed.
So when you dream and the night grows deep,
And something stirs that should not creep—
Heed the whisper, though you’re alarmed:
The warned may wake, but the blind are charmed.
Therapy Bits 
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