Pumpkin (an acrostic poem)

Pushing his horse to go faster, Jon peered through the fog

Under the full moon, the fog formed a concealing haze

Muttering under his breath, Jon was forced to slow down

Pelting his head on a branch wouldn’t be much better than getting caught

Killed was killed, no matter which way his head crumbled

It began to clear and Jon could see the old school house.  He was almost home

Nathan found Jon’s remains mingled with those of an orange squash on the school’s wall

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