Poem: 'The Ghost.'

The Ghost

I thought that man, the ghost in white,

The death it was, in white and black,

With a white hat and (a) big smile,

From the old venue,

Up there, in Miller's Hill.

There he was, advicing me: 'Careful, go ahead!

For life is short, some want to lie,

But I do not.'

The man in white, brilliant till dazzle,

Said from the hill: 'there's nothing here, there isn't past.'

Though in photos in black and white I saw the brits,

He stared and moved,

There is no past...

Was he my uncle, was he my past?

Who was that lord saying good-bye from that side?

Copyright, C.G.F.L.

Las Palmas de G. C.