Ghosts of Children

 

Wherewith hath come

The screeching wind

That withered frame

And emptied rooms,

That sent mice racing

To their holes,

While ghosts of children

Play in the grass?

 

Oh, the times they change

But life moves on,

Yet their skeletons

Stay behind

With stark remains

Of joy and pain

While ghosts of children

Play in the grass.

 

Cris Coleman

August 15, 2015

 

Link back to Weekly Photo Challenge: Creepy

You’re welcome to visit my Barns! Barns! Barns! photostream in flickr where you can register for free and upload your own photos of old barns, farm houses and other related items.

The night has been unruly: where we lay,
Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i’ the air; strange screams of death,
And prophesying with accents terrible
Of dire combustion and confused events
New hatch’d to the woeful time: the obscure bird
Clamour’d the livelong night: some say, the earth
Was feverous and did shake.
(Macbeth, 2.3)