There's a ghost called coast the host.
The light flicker's on and off, as the picker picks biscuits
picker starts to brick it, and sticks the biscuits back.
the black cat smacks into the small wall
those pictures fall of the wall, as the door closes
the floors feels like it's moving.
the picker runs quicker, as coast the host starts to talk.
The toast jumps of the plate, as the chicken roast's
the chip has a dip in Betty's hot pot.
the carling pops out of the fridge like lightening
the carling says hello darling.
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Comments about this poem (Ghost by Alison Mills )
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