December Ghost

Shivers all over the atmosphere Fevered by a bizarre spirit Enrobbed in a shroud of grey, hovering In the dry weird hemisphere Within the graveyard curtain of mist And lurking behind the skeletal frames of trees! Have you too seen the ghost? Or have you not felt it when it appears? There it hovers freely in a whirl Through the ambience of December And causes the skin to whiten and shiver And eyes wide open with expectation And the hairs prickled with anxiety! There it goes and vanish...here beside It has cast a spell of Dementia On a young man Mr. Jones, being alone Maybe because he has no wife with him No lover, no money and more so He could not be with his family Who will regard him as a Nobody! It also bewitched with melancholy and frailty Abandoned and unprotected children Orphaned in homes without soup or bread. It curse too those whose tables are full And go on spree of extravagance With swell of recklessness and vanity!