Light of each step, a haunting on air,
A spine now made of ice and glass,
Shadows quickly run–and laugh all as one,
Into a night now quiet at last,
A graven reminder of old Walden Manor,
On a hill where a banner once flew,
Every October–those looking over,
See castle ground stones on the move,
Unburial week for those in the deep,
In the throes of this world and that,
Even returned–are those who’ve been burned,
And a choir with notes in B-flat,
A thawing out spine no longer chills–
November first brings new thrills