Poem: “Holy… GHOST in the GRAVEYARD”


in the

It’s Friday night
Of the fourth week of school
A bit of a nip
Beginning to cool.

After supper
In the night
It’s “Ghost in the graveyard”
Children take flight!

They run round corners
Of neighbors’ homes
Hide behind cars
With duct-taped chromes.

Quiet brown
Crackling leaves breeze
They all crouch down
Then an allergy sneeze.

From concrete driveways
Up jump the dead
To the seven porch steps
The living have fled.

Where to the top
They climb to be free
Like the seven sacraments
Are steps up to Thee!

Hilary McRee Flanery


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