Where a Ghost Just won’t Do
Sometimes the rain is haunting,
where a ghost just won’t do.
The rain is unexpected and the place
I’m headed for is Mud Creek.
Drip, drip, drip - steady flow of tears,
not felt in the eyes or on the cheeks
but in the heart. Thunder cracks -
as if it is expletives overhead.
Battle of gutters and downspouts,
pools at the foundation of my house.
A steady waterfall, drip, drip, dripping.
The sky fell out and a fiddler plays.
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