Then ghosts arrive, afflict my sight,
Appear from shadows born,
Dark, brooding, eyes alight,
Long brown locks, heads tightly shorn.
Some show smiles, some show scowls,
Some are plain to see,
Some are hidden, darkened brows,
Some full faced and free.
A mustache here, a bonnet there,
A pipe, a stick, a dream,
A focused gaze, an intent stare,
A collage at full steam.
Ask me not the names of these,
For presence is enough,
Speeding, staying, feel the breeze,
And love, light’s sweetest touch.
© Copyright December 2014 – Robin McShane
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