There She Is At Last
Beautiful lace-gowned maiden dark of hair
Waits patiently for him. Please do not stare.
He will be out of the house at his usual time.
Taking her arm in a gentleman’s gesture sublime.
They will start at the pink roses, ending under the thyme.
He will do the talking but she certainly does not mind.
Step back in the shadows, and slow down your rapid sounding breath.
Or their yearly walk will be cancelled as quickly as her death.
Here comes the old wizen widower now. Something is wrong.
He is quieting himself, trying to hear his love’s song.
Was that a glimpse? Did you see her my friend?
Hush now, unless you want their moment to end.
Ah, there she is. And much lovelier than I had ever guessed.
They walk toward the roses, her arm lovingly next to his chest.
Fifty sad years they have walked this way on the second of June.
Some day they will do it nightly, and much closer to the moon.
We watch from the shadows, my companion and I.
We do a great job of not making any noise, even a silent cry.
The ghost and her husband, enjoying a night made in heaven.
Their children never knowing, not one of their seven.
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