They say dead men don't bite, but I had misplaced the site, until I stepped on his toes and fell victim to his woes! There was an allergic tickle in my nose, when I encountered feathers of crows, and then I sneezed, but the crows weren't pleased at the hostile spray that blew their master's ashes away. The residents were heard yet unseen, as they expressed their revilement for the graveyard being unclean, and I was banned from Halloween!

I still enjoy trick or treat, for I trick the crows into cleaning my feet, as a reward for my feat! The crows have a new tree, but by gosh they will never be free; Halloween has nothing on me!

The shoe will always fit when it involves bought wit, however it may cost too much and thus settle for a third touch, and ice in the cold of June may welcome the third party tune! Crooked logs often make straight fires, but I won't lose my wit to a pack of liars! What they choose for themselves, they use for themselves only, but their paths are poorly lit, when faced with persevering wit! Through weather and crime, my wit has stood the test of time!