Ballad

There is a ghost haunting this room; I’m very sure of it. There is a cold breeze above the cushion, Where you used to sit.

I sometimes hear a laugh, And in the corner of my eye, I see a familiar shadow Slowly floating by.

In bed there is a second beating, Pounding next to mine. But I can’t say that I mind it, Nearly half the time.

She can be quite a nuisance, With her mocking schemes She often leaves your books and things Right by me, just to see.

I once asked her to leave, To give me a peace of heart, But then I find her presence a crutch from which I cannot part.

So in the evenings I leave the window open, And set out two cups for tea, This way things aren’t as empty, As they used to be.