Ghosts
Ghosts
The clouds gather in the east as the sun sets in the west,
And a slight breeze rocks an old weathered rocking
Chair on the porch of a large log cabin.
Trees, which could tell stories of the past, surround the
Century-old structure.
A fish jumps in a nearby lake and it’s splash
Ripples across the crisp autumn air.
Apparitions visit the empty home as a kerosene lamp
Mysteriously illuminates the interior of the living room
The sounds of dry wood crackle in the crude ash-filled
Stone fireplace while no flame glows.
Footsteps creak on the wide porch as a screen door
Squeaks due to years of rust and bad maintenance.
A tiny voice cries in the night inside a small adjacent
Room and an old-fashioned cradle keeps the rhythm of
The rocking chair on the porch.
A pane-less window in the room stays open, no matter how
Many times a person would try to close it.
By daybreak, the sun light streaks through the window,
And the coals in the fireplace are still warm.
To read this poem in French, click here.
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