Deep within the hollow oak, draped in cobweb lace, The Death-Watch Beetle set the feast and polished up the place. He strung up fungal lanterns and he poured the honeydew, Just thrilled to have some company beneath the autumn moon. He heard a tiny knock and tapped his head against the wood, A welcoming vibration, or at least he thought it stood The rotting timber shuddered, and a chunk of bark came down, Squashing poor Miss Ladybug right through her polka-dot gown. Oh, a tragic little bash on Halloween night, He only meant to celebrate beneath the pale light! With six clumsy claws and the best of intent, He’s wiping out the guest list wherever he went. The Stag and Rhino arrived in polished armored suits, Carrying fermented saps and twisted winter roots. "Come in, make room!" the host exclaimed, and offered them a seat, Pointing to a toadstool cap he thought was rather neat. He kicked the base to dust it off, a toxic puff went wild, A cloud of deadly fungal spores that wasn’t very mild. The Stag choked on a cloud of dust, the Rhino tumbled back, Both giant beetles upside down, their heavy shells went crack. Oh, a tragic little bash on Halloween night, He only meant to celebrate beneath the pale light! With six clumsy claws and the best of intent, He’s wiping out the guest list wherever he went. The Snail had finally reached the porch, though moving rather late, Sensing something wasn't right beyond the hollow gate. The host rushed out: "A napkin, quick! You’re dripping on the floor!" And grabbed a pinch of crystal salt behind the cellar door. He sprinkled them with cheerful pride to dry the slimy track Forgetting that rock salt dissolves a snail right through its shell and back. The Honey Bee buzzed through the dark, dressed up like a ghost, Looking for the punchbowl and looking for the host. "A midnight cider!" cried the bug, and spun the spigot round, Splashing amber sap across the tablecloth and ground. Her yellow wings got caught right in the sticky, golden glue, She struggled for a second, then went under in the brew. Now silence fills the hollow oak, the pumpkin lantern fades, No music in the ballroom, no drunken masquerades. Just the Death-Beetle sweeping up with a party hat askew, Muttering, "Next Halloween... I’ll order out for two."
