Is There A Ghost?
Get finished mopping the floors
I sit here silently,
Everything is quiet
While I write my poetry.
There's noone here
I'm sitting here alone,
I feel an eerie presence
Something that is unknown.
I left the mop
Leaning against the wall,
Waiting for the floors to dry
It's still wet in the hall.
The mop slid down the wall
And landed on the floor,
It scared the daylights out of me
Need I say anything more?
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Nov.25/2004
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