A pixie prowled a pumpkin patch
and picked a pumpkin out to snatch
and carry back into her home
behind a gnarly garden gnome.
The pumpkin watched her at the loom
she kept at ready in her room,
for weaving warm and wooly wraps
to keep the chill off when she naps.
While snuggling up to go to sleep,
she didn't hear the pumpkin creep
into the pumpkin patch again,
rescuing pumpkins from the pain
of being gutted, sliced and slit
to serve as lanterns, brightly lit
or maybe luscious pumpkin pies,
though, either way a pumpkin dies.
Forgiveness is the fragrance
the violet sheds
on the heel
that has crushed it.MM Award Winner