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.
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