ALL SOUL'S EVE Dorothy Rath

Bar your doors!

The wolf wind shakes the treetops

in dagger teeth

and the leaves like panicked birds

stream blindly down the air.

The unquiet dead

whisper of unforgotten grievances

and shift cold restless bones

in their mouldy shrouds.

The scudding clouds

have grazed the corpse of moon

in headlong flight.

O you, who see in shadows

the accusing eyes of conscience,

bar your doors!