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