Today’s poem

THE GHOST

Home from the trenches, the blood, fear and gore, My Army boots lying on the bedroom floor, The cold is relentless as I shiver in bed, Greatcoat hanging on the back door peg. I miss my wife who death snatched away, Just days before I came home to stay, I see her now in slumber beside me, Her sweet love and kisses forever denied me. We have a child, my first time of seeing, Her cot in the corner, she is all of my being. The coals in the grate die out and fall, Shadows advance from the bedroom wall. Little Mary, for that is her name, Cries out in her sleep and fills me with shame, I leap from my bed to reach down and hold her, But stop when a presence appears at my shoulder. For there in the shadows my wife stands and stares, Conflicting emotions her lovely face shares. To my horror and anguish she lets out a cry, For, you see, the ghost is I.

G. B. McClure, knaresborough, N. Yorks.