Tracks

Children know That giants grow, Ghosts are true, And witches too. Grown-ups don’t, And so they won’t Hear things wail Inside the gale. “It’s an owl Or some cat’s yowl,” They insist With whitened fist. You know more: You lock your door, Snuggle deep And pray you sleep. Then at dawn Behold the lawn: Sunrise glints On fresh, fresh prints. Bones have walked, Ghosts darkly stalked, Tombs have stirred, And you, YOU heard.