There is a carnival at the graveyard tonight,
Yet only a beep breaks the silent night.
The moon plays hide-and-seek up high,
While stars pretend to sleep in the sky.
A coffin yawns with wooden jaws stretched wide,
“Who knew eternal rest could be this spry?” it sighed.
The skeletons, in their bony gala attire,
Dance a jig on tombstones, their movements quite inspired.
“Bone-tired we may be, but our spirits never tire,”
Said one, while playing ribs like a xylophone choir.
The ghost of Old Man Grim, with his scythe so gleaming bright,
Spun fables of yore, in a spectral kind of light.
“Reaping’s a grim job, but somebody’s gotta do it,”
He quipped, while his hollow eyes danced with ghostly wit.
A bat in a top hat, dapper and so grand,
Led an orchestra of owls, the best in all the land.
“Music to die for!” he declared with pride,
As their notes hung in the air, like souls yet untried.
The night wore on, with its macabre glee,
Even the weeping willows chuckled silently.
“Life’s a grave matter,” they rustled with delight,
“But death, oh death, brings a party every night!”
Oh! The beauty of the darkness carnival, where humor finds its place,
Death takes a bow, with a skeletal grace.
For even in the shadow’s grip, a laugh can be found,
When we become eternal masquerades, and we are all underground.
What a night!
© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi
2024
Ifedolapo Ogunniyi 