Willful child, capricious child, round the garden goes,
Can he, will he, do his work? Alas the teacher knows
That he will not, without dissent, his many lessons heed.
A prankster is his avocation, a trick his favorite deed.
He finds the tasks of etiquette to be inane, no fun;
They give him not a whit of help in tricks that he’d see done.
No threats, no bribes, efficacious prove, and none can tame him, so
Before a soul can hold him back, it’s out the door he’ll go.
Though teacher calls and follows him, fear sharp in his voice,
The lad will not return to him; exploring is his choice.
Foolish child, reckless child, he does not heed the knell,
The strident calling into night of Teacher’s warning bell.
Warning bell with message clear, the only lesson learned,
‘Danger, hurry, come inside’ and yet its call is spurned.
Into the graveyard, proud marches he, without a care or fear,
For he knows not what danger lurks or what is drawing near.
From out the crawling mists they come, a fell light their disguise.
The child halts to meet their gaze with wide yet fearless eyes.
What have we here? What does he see? Be they monsters from the grave?
It’s sure they are, with moribund air, the ones that life can’t save.
The young boy speaks, his voice quite strong, bids them on their way,
Continues to pontificate when they have naught to say.
He tells them dead things are not real and cannot do him ill;
He speaks on what he knows not of, with young and steadfast will.
He thinks they’ll go as he commands, will leave as he has said.
Too late he learns that reticence is safer with those dead.
Too late to hide, too late to run, but he knows that he must try,
For if he shan’t, the outcome’s clear—they seek his life; he’ll die.
He turns to flee, they follow swift, foul vitriol they spew
Against the life in him so strong, a life that they once knew.
Quickly circled is the lad, by leering, hungry faces.
Now he softly starts to cry, his little heart, it races.
Their movement checked by his slight tears, they stop, the monsters pause,
Then each reaches out for one salt-star to slip between their jaws.
Bitter pain and bitter fear, emotions they once knew,
Beneath it all is something more, but something just as true;
The laughter of a little child, the pranks he wants to play,
And as they stand in wonder, to the east there breaks the day.
Sickness fades, and ghastly rot, they shimmer in the light,
Freed, now, they all fade away, to no more haunt the night.
Racing footsteps reach his ears, the boy turns quick in dread,
To be caught up in strong, safe arms. His teacher feared him dead.
Homeward carried, wayward child, sleeping sound at last,
But he won’t forget the strange events of this fey night past.
And if he still, his pranks will play, and in delight will grin,
He’ll come inside when he is called, no fight must Teacher win.
Willful child, capricious child, round the garden goes,
Can he, will he, do his work? He will, his teacher knows.
