Pumpkin

by Timothy

Pumpkin, sitting on my table,
He knows he has to be cut soon;
I tell him it will be okay,
But he's telling me I'm howling at the moon.

I tell him he will have a pretty face,
Maybe a scary one, to set the mood;
But he protests, and denies my sincerity,
And I sit here and brood.

Halloween is only two weeks away,
There is no more time to cry;
SLASH! There, look--uh, oh...
I guess it's time to make a pie.