We never saw the ghost, though he was there–
we knew from the raindrops tapping on the eaves.
We never saw him, and we didn’t care.
Each day, new sunshine tumbled through the air;
evenings, the moonlight rustled in dark leaves.
We never saw the ghost, though: he was there,
if ever, when the wind tousled our hair
and prickled goosebumps up and down thin sleeves;
we never saw him. And we didn’t care
to step outside our room at night, or dare
click off the nightlight: call it fear of thieves.
We never saw the ghost, though he was there
in sunlit dustmotes drifting anywhere,
in light-and-shadow, such as the moon weaves.
We never saw him, though, and didn’t care,
until at last we saw him everywhere.
We told nobody. Everyone believes
we never saw the ghost (if he was there),
we never saw him and we didn’t care.
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Happy Halloween! This is so cool and makes me think of “When I was climbing up the stairs, I met a man who wasn’t there.” For some reason, that rhyme creeped me out when I was a kid. But I still loved it, because I was a weird kid. I’m completely normal now…big tee hee. I still LOVE ghost stories! Have a good weekend, sistah!