An old clock stretches and groans,

A windswept lawn, the twisted oak moans,

Ten chimes boom, ten strikes for a coming hour,

The house, quiet as it is big, like the Tallest Tower.

The floorboards above creak and stir,

And as the hour passes, the air becomes warm and still

Like the empty halls above. With a befallen will!

The door slams from blunt and unexpected force

Yet not a soul to listen to the wails of the haunted floor boards above

The fireplace remains burning, as the wind pushes the house with a thrust and a shove.

And though the floor boards shutter from the sound of shuffling feet,

Those above and below will never meet.

And though the small corner at the rear of the hall forever may be haunted,

And the door forever may be jaunted,

With the air as crisp as cotton,

The peaceful and abrupt ghost above the floor boards may never be forgotten!

Photo by James Fitzgerald on Unsplash