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Poem

When night is dressed in darkest cloak and woe replaces gloom;
When all the children are asleep, each in their separate room,
Unsettled spirits will appear immured in murky mist.
No matter what you’ve ever heard, we seem to coexist.

There is a house inhabited beyond the owner’s fee,
For he can’t reap a rent from ghosts who dwell inside for free.
And meanwhile, tenants hear each noise as marbles cross the floor.
They witness lights snap on and off, the sound of slamming doors.

deBury mansion mystifies all those who call it home.
The ghastly ghosts that they perceive do rigorously roam.
So still inside the closet space till midnight charms the dark.
Then out among the living souls, these specters disembark.

Why do the dead delay their flight? Why do they terrify?
Where do they go in morning light when sunbeams rule the sky?
It’s said that there are hidden steps, now sealed behind a wall,
And rooms no one has ever seen with ceilings twelve feet tall.

When Count deBury passed away, what happened to his will?
Some say it’s still inside the house, not under daffodils.
There could be undetected gems beneath a floor’s loose board,
Some antique coins, or gold, or jewels, or other fortune stored.

Perhaps his ghost is guarding wealth that he would never spend.
His name and reputation all that’s left him in the end.
They say that one man’s tainted trash is to another riches.
Might make you take a second look at litter in the ditches.

The next time you pass by the house, pause briefly with a prayer
For Count and Countess deBury, the mist upon a stair.

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