Trick or treat, cloven feet,
Eskel is into horns.
The love we share, for him of white hair,
Can take so many forms.
Some choose Yen of raven hair, and violet, stormy eyes.
Others Triss, a ginger bit, with eyes of bluest skies.
Fancy a lad? That can be had; we've plenty 'round the Lair to spare.
Vernon's here, with Temeria dear; in his heart she shall always be. And Ves is by her commanders' side, hoping that two can become three.
And look to the rafters; see up above, two bats of enormous size! Tis Dettlaff and Regis, chatting again, reminiscing about old times.
When what do I hear this time of the year, but a cry in the woods outside! Ah never fear, for Letho is here, and Shani is by the Snakes' side.
A costume won't do, when you're you-know-who, with a doublet of magenta flair. He straightens his cap, gives his knee a tap, and prepares to regale the Lair.
It's Samhain, my friends, or Halloween if you like, or All Souls and All Saints will do.
And I wanted to write, on this darkened night, a poem for each of you.
With so many likes, and loves to be had, I cannot mention them all by name. And while what we love many vary a bit, it may be said we love one thing the same.
The White Wolf we honor. Our friend, a brother most bold. Through us does he live, and through us his story is told.
Down many a path, through witches' woods, we together have come through it all. Though kingdoms defy us, and mages try to fry us, we Witchers, and vampires, refuse to fall.
So on this night of tricks and treats, when a mask can hide what we are. I thought of my friends, all of you here, and I send you greetings from afar.
A blessed Samhain to all, or whatever it may be to you there. The resident werewolf howls for joy to be part of the Witcher's Lair.