That ghost, I don’t know who he thinks he is,
Standing there at the bottom of my bed,
Saying spooky things and messing with my head,
Well, I’m not having it; he’s not doing that to me.
The next time he comes,
I will have the ghost busters here you see,
Then we will see who is freighted,
we will watch him run away,
and hopefully, he will never come back,
that’s all I have to say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem