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A ghost set out one moonlit night,
His tattered sheet made quite the sight.
He’d planned to haunt with eerie flair,
But his faint glow was thin and rare.

He floated high, then snagged a tree,
His sheet got stuck—oh, woe was he!
The owls all hooted, “What’s this mess?
You’re less a spook, more fancy dress!”

He tried to wail, to chill the air,
But coughed up dust—no lungs were there.
The bats above all giggled loud,
“This ghost’s a joke, he’s far too proud!”

He drifted to a creaky shack,
To scare some folks and not look back.
But tripped on boots left by the door,
And faceplanted on the creaky floor.

The mice inside gave tiny cheers,
“Nice try, old ghoul, but we’ve no fears!”
They nibbled holes in his ghostly drape,
Now his sheet’s more like a tattered cape.

He sighed and sat on a wobbly tomb,
His spooky dreams all met with doom.
The gravestones whispered, “Take a break,
Even spirits make mistakes!”

So he laughed it off with spectral grin,
“Haunting’s tough, but I’ll try again!
Next time I’ll glide with smoother moves,
And scare the socks off all who rove!”

The moon just winked, the stars gave clap,
“Keep at it, ghost, you’ll bridge the gap!”
For even in death, with all its strife,
A ghost can find some joy in life.

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