Ghostie

A purple, little poe

with cloak and lamp

A smile, bitter

and eyes or'ange

In classic style, my headwrap worn,

of the people I departed from

No way have I

to leave this land,

Nor feel it right

to fade from man

To travelers I always lend a hand

And hope they feel a soul of kin

To connect again

I strongly yearn

Yet how they flee

When they see me turn!

A fearful sight, perhaps, am I?

well peep my tablet-stone and read:

A man who loved;

a ghost in need

A gentle guide,

one best to heed

This I am, and not one to jest

a little ghost with all jokes missed

A punchline to the living

is but a ghostly cackle,

and how I cry

when they hurl their torches!

Their fire burns, though I have no flesh

Singed raiment, a loss; my robe and vest!

It's hurtful, too

don't they see?

A ghost was just

a human being!

no one wants a poe gone mad,

And that's not a threat; my temper's glad!

so read with care

when thou next sees

a little poe drift

in on the breeze

Will'st thou banish our souls away?

Because I like it here and I yearn to stay!