May 
                       I 
                      say
       I love seeing your hunter's hands
     hard at  work the gleeful  grimace as  
  you chop    and   hack   the    strength and 
smoothness     of  each  cut      You are fierce
sharpeyed   intent knife gripped    tight in hand  
as you carve the       heart of your prey from its 
still   warm body the seeds and pulp     spilling 
through   your fingers a hand holds     the gourd 
steady     as you    cut   the        hard bright 
slippery    skin     you             pierce and 
slice and                         carveshape to
  make a face backlit by a candle lighting the 
  front step all to delight my childish heart
     like Sally for Jack Skellington, I love
               you, my pumpkin king