The Ghost at Shibden Hall

The Ghost at Shibden Hall
the halls are empty now –
the bed is no longer slept in,
the table is empty at breakfast,
the sure quick steps are stilled.
only the scratching of her pen is heard
and the whispers to her lover.
A presence is seen,
palely like light through a lace curtain.
six months dead before she arrived again home.
courage, she whispers.
be strong…
I rise above…
the slide of black silk on floors,
the generous laugh,
the clink of teacup against saucer…
a passing reflection in the window.
snow falls gently outside.
there’s a ghost at Shibden Hall.

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