Macomber cemetery clean up- DATE TO BE ANNOUNCED

When autumn winds bite with chilling air.

And Burlingame’s paths turn dark and bare,

The forest hums a warning tune—

A trembling song beneath the moon.

It calls to those who dare to roam,

To gather near… but not alone.

The shadows stretch with wicked grace,

They slip through trees without a trace.

They whisper secrets, soft and low,

Of long-lost campers from years ago.

Their stories drift on chilling air—

A hint of laughter… or despair.

Flickering pumpkins and lantern light,

Invite wanderers through the wicked night.

Where ghoulies dance and spirits sway,

Mischief sparks where the wilds play.

Mindful- for every ghost that stirs unseen,

Ten (or more) creep the woods between.

So, heed the rustle in the leaves,

The tapping branches on the eaves.

For when the veil grows thin and worn,

And haunted revelry is born—

The woods awake, the night grows keen…

Alas- Columbus Day Weekend becomes B4B’s Halloween.