chapter

7

Halloween: A Time
to HOnor the Dead

I miss you most upon each Samhain

When the boundary turns to sheer

I wait until the veil is parted

At the ending of the year.

Sweet spirit, as you walk among us

At the tolling of this eve

I see your face beyond the sunset

And hear your voice upon the breeze.

In the glowing of the candle,

From the shadow on the wall

I watch for you in every movement

And hear your footsteps in the hall.

Can you sit and spend the evening

As the portal opens wide?

Ancestral dead, I bid you welcome,

Most recent dead, I pray, abide.

When you come I sense your presence

I put my hand out in the air

A moment, then, we stand united

Palm to palm while waiting there.

I miss you most upon each Samhain

When the boundary turns to sheer

We share these hours until the dawning

Then bid farewell until next year.

— © 1988 David O. Norris,
“Upon Each Samhain”