National Poetry Month

river ghost shivers gaze vicious wicked We rowed around the river bend; the moon peeped under a black cloud. An eerie feeling it did lend- beheld a ghost with a black shroud. Our shivers increased as we rowed; it followed us with a blank gaze. And, then air currents quickly flowed as winds intensified the haze. What is this vicious scene we see? What does the wicked vision want? Then all at once, it flew with glee! Black garbage bag- our scary taunt!