The Ghost

Caught briefly in the moment’s light A time of fertile imagination To ponder the passing flickering And see the image in shady spot A fleeting will o the wisp you might say That spurs the heart and spawns a shudder The watcher must sit up, take note And scan the scene intensely Of phantom intrigue through bright keen eye To seek again the spectral fantasy Where haunting of a sort still tells a tale And claims a name for some historic act The ghost of Toodle-Loo still walks And they will come again to view the shady ghoul Who chooses to be seen in cloak amid the shade For now to play a guessing game or figment But for a moment.