Ghost

Rocks and stones and broken bones, Hold stories all hidden away, Stories of dead, who never forget, Lit in the yearly display, Where crystals of fluorite, fixed in the rock, Stand once a year for a show, Dance with the sun on the summer solstice, Creating a colourful glow, And spirits wake up, sharing their tales, Waltzing with lights on the wall, Waltzing and spinning with twirling red shades, With a ghostly, colourful shawl, And these rocks protect all of the love, Of broken bones some say is witchcraft, Some say it’s horror, but here they are wrong, It’s dead folks celebrating the past.