Hallowtide
by Sarah Ashbach
Sunlight stretched taffy-thin, our bright days narrow,
and locust trees drip leaves like honeycomb
that’s lifted in a hand. Fall feast, long fast.
The year matures like mead. Earth’s in our marrow;
now how shall we grow old? From home to home
the children go, candy dropped where they’ve passed,
the wrappers orange and gold. The scarecrow sings,
“Sweet life falls down to ferment in the loam.”
But see the wilting asters, still harassed
by time and tardy bees, salvaging things—
here—last. 
First published in New Verse Review: A Journal of Lyric and Narrative Poetry (Halloween 2026— Volume 3 Issue 4).