The Ghost
The ghost rattled the chimney
Chiming the dust of bricks
Blowing through holes made centuries ago
With nails cut into shape
Jagged and misplaced in darkened wood
Smoke curling, a hand for a moment
The draft from ill fitting pane
Scatters it before a hold could be took
We clogged the sole
With shreds of yesterdays news
You finally slept sound
Posted: Monday, February 17th, 2014 @ 9:35 pm
Categories: Poems, The Sight.
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