The pumpkin sits there waiting
For its jack-o-lantern face,
Which soon enough that orange smoothness
It will thus replace.
Decisions will be left to both
The grandkids and the dad
Regarding its expression -
Happy, scary, shocked or mad.
I won't be there when they begin
The scooping of the seeds
But hope they're toasted, a tradition
Nana always heeds.
Next Friday, when we babysit,
I'll see what they have made,
Which may be in the garbage
Or, I'm hoping, still displayed.
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