In my house there lives some ghosts,
Mischief is their second name.
They always seem to be drinking toasts,
Usually from my best champagne.
I cannot say they are as drunk as Lords,
For that would be going too far,
But I fear they often rattle their swords,
As they stand around in my bar.
They tell some pretty tall tales,
Of things that happened in the past.
Then they break out into piteous wails,
For even my stocks of champagne will not last.
I await the day when I can join the throng,
For I too have many a tale to tell,
I will drink and join in with a song.
For I have a voice as sweet as a bell,
I hope the new owner has a taste for beer,
For that is my favourite drink you know.
Then above my wails I will give a cheer,
As the beer slowly down my gullet does go.
I do not mind the Ghosts in my house,
They give the place quite an air,
I will act as quiet as a mouse,
As long as I get my fair share.
The ghosts have been there for as long as I can remember,
They treat my house as their own,
They can stay from January to December,
And call my house their home.
Comments about this poem (Ghosts. by Bernard Shaw )
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