The first year she was a pumpkin
and she donned a bright orange smock.
Her daddy took her trick-or-treating,
though she had not learned to walk.

The next year she was a bunny
and on one leg, she would hop
while her left ear stood up straight
and the right would swing and flop.

Then a bride costume from Grandpa;
a long skirt and lacy blouse,
but she tripped over the train…
so daddy carried her to each house.

The fourth year brought us Lion King
and she roared both day and night.
She was either “Simba” or was “Nala”.
(I never could get that right!)

The next Halloween as she got dressed,
she just kept on asking why - - -
if she was indeed “Supergirl”,
why then could she not fly?

Her sixth year she was all in pink
protecting us all from danger,
as she kicked and “karaate-chopped” the air
as “Kimberly, the Power Ranger”.

When she was seven, she wore a yellow gown.
She was “Beauty”, to say the least,
insisting that her little sister,
by default, was the “Beast”.

In my heart I knew the time would come;
and this year our walk together ends.
She said, “it’s not cool for mom to go;
I want to walk with all my friends.”  

So, I’m figuring out what I will say;
rehearsing one excuse after another,
in case she notice the “ghost” behind her
walks a little bit like her mother!

And I still have Halloweens to come;
my other daughter is only three.
What worries me is… when she grows up,
who will trick or treat with me?

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