Seeing Spirits

Seeing Spirits

For years, Tim had the visions Seeing things that no one could If he spoke of them, he’s crazy He kept quiet, like he should Just normal, little, visions Of people who were dead Just wandering in places He knew weren’t in his head
It started on vacation He saw the “grey lady” in a room At first, he thought the lighting made what he saw there in the gloom But, later, in his bedroom while reading pamphlets on the place she appeared there in his bedroom But, he couldn’t see her face
He kept his little secret Not telling people she was there She was mentioned by no others So, he didn’t really care An undigested bit of beef A piece of moldy bread Like Dicken’s Scrooge before him She wasn’t real, because she’s dead
While still on his vacation He saw two more, this time more clear He saw one upon a staircase And the other, much more near They never interacted Didn’t know that he could see But, he wondered “why could no other” “see them ‘cept for me?”
Two years had passed, he was at home He was living on the coast When one day he saw the woman And he knew she was a ghost The house was large, and gothic With a widows walk on top It was there he saw the woman He shut his eyes to make it stop
She walked upon the rooftop Looking out over the waves Her dog was there beside her Looking for someone to save He walked away in silence Turned to look, she was not there He knew better than to think that It was a trick of light and air
Turns out the spirit walker Lost her husband in a wreck He was a whaler, up in Portsmouth He drowned and broke his neck A wave came out of nowhere Sank his boat, “The Lucky Hoof” Now, his widow walks and watches She is a fixture on the roof
He’s seen children in the bushes Not quite sure if they were real But, could he talk about his visions ? His dark secret to reveal They never seemed to notice That he saw them, they just were So he’d watch them and he’d listen Till the day that he saw her
She was sitting in the corner Of a restaurant, alone one night But as he watched a little closer He saw no shadow from the light She sat alone in silence No one ventured where she sat She was dressed in twenties clothing A classy dress and flapper hat
Two nights went by, he saw her Sitting exactly as before When he asked about the table He saw the table was no more He had to find this woman find out why she showed up here He would investigate the building But, first he’d have a beer
Turns out her name was Maisy At least that’s what he found out She went missing from the building Of this there was no doubt No one knew which way she travelled No one ever saw her go But, the stories, oh the stories Maisy, turns up…don’t you know
The corner with the table Was just a bricked up wall, that’s all It was constructed when she left here By the old owner Joe Paul There never was a reason For the wall, it had no use There could only be one reason And I think you can deduce
Maisy never went and left here Joe killed her late one night It was an accident of passion He had to hide her out of sight But like Poes tale “The Telltale Heart” She would show up in her seat Only Joe could ever see her No one else would Maisy meet
Tim went to the new owner Told him of Maisy and her tale Told him of The Widow Hanker And her husband and his whale Was he crazy ? or a mystic ? The owner said “you are no clown” And he said tonight at closing The wall is coming down
They found dear Maisy waiting In her dress and flapper hat She was sitting at the table She was dead, and that was that The owner, shocked to silence Stood and watched our mystic Tim As he stood there while Maisy’s spirit Left this world and passed through him
Tim still has the visions Still sees the woman and her hound Still watching for her husband Tim knows he won’t be found He knows which ones he’s needed To investigate, set free And the rest of all the spirits Well, Tim knows what is meant to be

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