At the frightful hayride

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At the frightful hayride
I await my turn
Peering at the scary masked faces
The smell of charring food lingers all around.
Suddenly, in the distance a chainsaw reves
Then comes silence.
With it comes the nightly chill of autumn,
Despite the chilly air that rests upon my cheek,
There is no better place to be in the midst of fall than Haunted Hills.





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