By Betty Norton, Clayton Green
Pray for the dead, on All Souls Night.
Then tell strange tales by candlelight.
Sit by a fire, in a deep armchair,
And try not see what else is there.
Witches, so they used to say,
come this night to creep and play,
sending shivers down your spine,
pass a bottle, drink some wine.
Tell sad tales of Pendle Hill,
did those souls do something ill?
Did they deserve to hang so high?
Where was truth, where was lie?
Going further back in time,
(hard to find a decent rhyme),
witches were by Saxons known,
were the wise folk of the town.
But All Souls Night more lately came.
For dead kin, set a candle flame.
But watch for dead kin not at peace.
They haunt a way to their release.
Pray for the poor sinful souls,
who haven’t paid their fees and tolls,
Don’t open the door for Trick or Treat,
Lest something dreadful you should meet.
Stay indoors and do what’s right,
Don’t go out on All Souls Night.