ghost (escapril)

on orchard street the people know

her name, the time, and how to sew;

she always cooked and never cleaned,

except her kitchen truly gleamed,

each burnished pot seemed to glow.

in the garden she placed plants to grow-

she sang to them and they moved, slow.

each year on sick day she was redeemed,

on orchard street.

they swear she was born long ago,

that she whispers spells into her dough.

each night she flew, or so they dreamed,

her long black hair behind her streamed,

and during winter, she keeps a crow-

on orchard street.