Page 29 - Contrast1991FallCarpeDiem
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The Ghost of Whiteford
A wisp of gray, Carrie Mallino
A chill of air,
A distant moan,
Long flowing hair,
Stands the ghost of Whiteford.
Walks she now
Down our halls,
Scratching at our doors.
Hollow eyes,
Icy hands,
Draped in scarves of long ago.
Sings she now
Outside our rooms,
A lullaby the echoes of her past.
Lock all your doors,
Ye Whiteford women,
And shut your windows tight.
Pray that you
Are a sleeper light.
For if it is a sleep
Too deep,
You will dream
A dream of death
And wake to find
That the ghost of Whiteford
Came and stole your breath.
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