Little Ghost Girl 3
The little ghost girl,
so fragile and soft,
she had no name, it was
Since she was different and all,
I called her 'Rose', dark but yet lovely.
Once she finished sobbing, she thanked me,
for the name, she said it out loud,
again and again.
I felt her joy flowing as she sang.
Her torn white dress, blew in the breeze, so
delicate, so fragile, I could tell
she was pleased.
Her new name fit her perfectly.
yes she was different,
but we can relate....
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Comments about this poem (Little Ghost Girl 3 by Desiree Marceliussen )
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