On my night you’ll visit those you love, bring their favorite foods but share none. You’ll dance and sing their favorite tunes, but they will not listen. You’ll light candles they cannot see, and watch as they glisten.

Freed from stone, skimmed from food Raised from sand, squeezed from wood Washed from flesh or pressed from fruit Oceans bloodied for this loot

I start with words, but end with cries, I take the living, and leave the whys. When I am gone, I linger still, In empty chairs and quiet hills.

I used to be solely black and white, but now I have color. I can be found in your grandparents house sometimes. If I'm old you may find history within.

Long but little, stubby pegs. Used in WWII for sniffing out bad eggs. Bad with hamsters, kids, and stairs. Sharp teef, German, little care.