Ghosts Poem by John Shea
Ghosts
I feel them in the winter time,
When life is cold, and time goes slow.
We shiver with cold like a silver dime,
Dropped in the cold,
To a soul floating in time.
With coin in hand,
we look for fortune anew,
But the things that we find are never so blue
as the rush of cold wind when the coinholder seeks you
Whoooo, that will put the shivers down your spine. I have been moaning and fussing about the cold for 2 wks now and there you go and throw ghosts and death in to the mix. Nicely done and just right for the season. T
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 9:09:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I love good endings and this was a good one. The last line was a keeper. It was as if the whole poem was written for that last line. This is a rare form of poetic device I seldom see. Wonderful! GW62