Why don't skeletons go to parties? Because they have no body to dance with

One cold autumn eve the winds start to change 

And it as it grows dark the carved faces grin.

Something in the air is feeling quite strange,

There's knocks on the door but noone's let in.

It's not every day you see a drunk ghost,

Stumbling witches propped up by their brooms.

Staggering zombies down pints with a boast,

Mummies that need to go back to their tombs.

Men dressed as heroes, Elvis and babies,

The bunnies are out and all dressed in leather,

Women dressed as men and men dressed as ladies,

Scantily clad in spite of the weather.

But can these costumes truly disguise,

The real monsters that lay dormant in side?

This is a sonnet I wrote for a poetry class I took at university, felt very appropriate to share this with you today!

Lizzie

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