In the sultry depths of Florida's glare,
Where the sun doth scorch the earth with despair,
There sits Dale, a doll with a gaze so rare,
Yearning for autumn's cool and ghostly air.
With eyes that hold the secrets of the grave,
He whispers of the chill that he doth crave,
For the fall of leaves and the shadows brave,
And the Halloween night, so dark and suave.
Oh, how he longs for the eerie delight,
When the spirits roam and the bats take flight,
For the moon to cast its pale, haunting light,
And the world to be cloaked in the fright of night.
So he waits in silence, with bated breath,
For the season of specters and of death,
To trade the blaze for a spectral wraith's caress,
Under the moon's glow, where the ghouls confess.
For now, he endures the relentless heat,
Until the time of haunts and trick-or-treat,
And when it comes, with a heart that skips a beat,
He'll embrace the haunted, harrowing feat.
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