I wrote this awhile back, and it's hard to find but it's meant to be in the eyes of Ichabod's mother.
Late at night the moon calls me
As I fall upon its ghoulish light
I dance upon its tender glow
As snow falls on me, a pleasant white
"Come," shrieks the man I love
As he grows obnoxiously alarmed
I meekly dance my way through the snow
And fall back into his gentle arms
But as the minutes pass by
I am drawn back to the gruesome light
And admiringly return outside
To respect the moon so pleasantly bright
I hope, however, my love doesn't hear
For if he finds out, I fear
He will be angered at me
For he don't believe in what I believe