Poem: "My Ghosts" by Verna Cole Mitchell


My Ghosts

by Verna Cole Mitchell

They climb down from the ceiling.

They dance along the walls.

They peer in through the windows.

They tiptoe through the halls.

While some have voices muted,

Some talk too noisily.

While some words they speak sadly,

Some they shout out with glee.

They come into the dining room

For meals around the table.

They snack while going through the house

Whenever they are able.

I even find them sleeping

In cradle or in bed.

They also sprawl on couches

Or on the floor instead.

They sit and play Monopoly

And other kinds of games.

Although they’re not permitted to,

They call each other names.

They run on Christmas morning,

Excitedly with joy,

To see if Santa came last night

And brought a special toy.

They gather all together

For family devotions.

They share their hopes and fears and dreams

With varying emotions.

When I try to hold on to them,

They sometimes glide away.

I fear that as years pass me by,

They’ll slowly fade to gray.

They aren’t ordinary ghosts,

But ghosts of memory,

My little children growing up—

So dear they are to me.

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