Ghostly Presence In The Hall
It is my mansion on the hill;
Magnificent and solitary.
I gaze from the upper window
At the garden and distant sea.
I hear the sound of the rocking horse,
Creaking gently as the children play;
Their voices carrying like music
On a sultry summer’s day.
And the sweet smell of roses
Fills the air and carries me
To another time, another place
In the forefront of my memory.
He was dressed in uniform
When he left on that winter’s day.
I held him for the longest time
Then watched him as he walked away.
I waited for a century
For my lover to return;
The clock ticking endlessly
But he never did come home.
I can hear the children running,
Responding to their mother’s call.
They cannot see me but they sense
The ghostly presence in the hall.
(c) Mary Cochrane 2016