Rising of Their Tent

The tent, its red ripe of apple,

so cold, yet dark as a pipe. 

A bewilderment at the sight, 

and let the show begin!

One by one, frights, long nights, freaks, and shrieks, 

from once they came. 

On end the hairs of all who view, 

all that bare the sight. 

Taking their time, shuffling along the grime, 

do they inhale the fears, the very images that our eyes tear. 

But no matter, I invite you to enjoy the show! 

It is about to begin, for more than you may know.