It Can'T Be Can It? Poem by lisa hancox

a spirit drifts through the black mist,
of your bare cellar and hall,
groaning with noises of sighing wind,
it can't be a ghost you say to yourself,
spying over the window sill,
but the earth outside is hushed and peaceful.

as the spirit whooshes outside your room,
a scary glowing fills the dimness,
and slivers through your half closed door,
flushing your mind with horrors once more,
it can't be a ghost you say to yourself,
going outside to switch out the light,
but the hallways as dark as night!