The beauty of old ghosts breathes sweet seduction
To minds oppressed by dead and fallen leaves.
The sacred lies unmasked, the poet grieves;
The lover pales to witness their reduction.
Time’s press reels on. Its infinite production
Arrays the world in wonders but achieves
But little worth that holds, for life bereaves
Us all, consigns our living to destruction.
Unending life and justice universal,
A perfect love that soars beyond the grave,
Salvation for the lonely and the poor,
Some cause worth living or worth dying for,
A caring Father, come at last to save…
Such lovely ghosts when faced with life’s reversal!
George Chadderdon © 2005