Marie Marshall

The last of my old offerings for the season of ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night, of bauchles and bogies and long-toothed flesh-feasties, and shadows that torment your sight. Go do Halloween, but have a care for your immortal souls…

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The ghost-caller

Where once the sunlight filtered through a curtain
…The woman sits, abandoned and alone;
See how such solitude is iron-certain
…In deeper-darkness, and how late it’s grown.

But wait a while – though many tears are falling
…And though the lonely, moonlit hours are long –
To shifting shades the woman’s voice is calling,
…And ghosts and demons hear the drifting song.

These spectres are the woman’s own creations
…That crawl into penumbras, opportune
And evening-timely come these apparitions,
…As heat’s a trusted herald of monsoon!

But will these things of darkness leave at morning,
…Or will they haunt the woman through the day?
That’s not for us to know – so heed my warning,
…And from this place of sadness… come away!

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