The Ghost Poem by Charlotte Pinkney
The Ghost
The ghost is there,
Lying in wait.
For anyone quiet enough,
To here of his fate.
He waits in the darkness,
A white tender thing,
If everyone was quiet
They might hear him sing.
A mournful song,
To haunt passers-by,
And all of a sudden,
They might start to cry.
For the ghost in the darkness,
The ghost on the stair,
The ghost who is waiting,
For anyone to care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 9:51:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
