Leafblade

A Ghost In May


Or when the lawn
Is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return
Gently at twilight, gently at dawn…
T.S.Eliot


Get thee gone,
O unquiet ghost;
A dream of the Otherland,
To whom I am host;
Pray, what ails you,
You who would not sleep,
A fragile form in sadness;
Nightly I hear you weep.

Whispering footfalls I oft’ have heard;
You have plagued my dreams in night’s hollows,
And when I have awoken to velvet night
You have melted in silence to the depths of shadow.

You are faceless,
My spectral friend;
In a mirror I saw your reflected form,
Sobbing, shuddering, remembering your end,
Untimely, morbid,
On so tranquil a day,

When the air smelled of roses,
Sunkissed May.

Beneath the beauty
Of such a sweet hour,
Death reared and claimed thee;
You were picked like a flower.
You are mourned, alas,
My spirit, chilled,
But there is nought here for you,
Save your pierced will.

The transition in death,
Unexpected, unsought,
Remains a blow to your soul,
In horror wrought;
So I shall abide thee
For this month of May,
While the air smells of roses,
And sun bathes the day.
Remember your true place,
In the world beyond,
But wander my homestead;
Sing your death song.
I shall abide thee as always
In your anniversary dance,
And watch you glide in the moonlight,
Between worlds, in trance.