Home-Coming At Midnight Poem by Gert Strydom

At night in the empty hall,
the outside lamplight makes long shadows fall
as if some ghosts wants to explore
the walls and every closed door

and my footfall sounds unnaturally loud
on the wooden floor, that creaks
as if someone else, maybe something
is following

and the curtains stir in the slight wind
that the closing front door throws
and although I know that I am totally alone
at the corner of my eye something moves,
moves in a kind of blur

and something is approaching, with glowing green eyes
encroaching while the tall clock strikes off midnight
brushing past me,
and I switch on the light
and the black and white housecat
rubs against me
in a loving tender way.