This entry is from Steve Warner who writes the blog, Brown Road Chronicles. It is a ghostly poem of a creaky home. I have included the link to his blog here: http://brownroadchronicles.wordpress.com/2011/07/11/a-ghostly-tale/
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A Ghostly Tale
Our old house is sometimes creaky.
Sometimes noisy, sometimes squeaky.
We love it still with all its quirks.
So long as all the plumbing works.
We live there happily undaunted.
Although we’re told the house is haunted.
Our guess is that it’s just a hoax.
Though spirits are elusive folks.
There’s a story ‘bout a ghost that’s told.
She harkens from a time of olde.
We think her name is Abbie Hill.
Albeit we haven’t seen her still.
See, Mrs. Hill and her loving spouse.
They used to own this big old house.
They built it as their family grew.
Way back in Eighteen-Ninety-Two.
Now why she’d rather stick around,
than head off where she should be bound.
The answer, surely no one knows.
But this is how the story goes.
The previous owners told this tale.
To us, before we closed the sale.
They saw her at their kitchen table.
They swore this story was no fable.
She sat there in a kitchen chair.
A fancy bun up in her hair.
She wore a nineteenth-century dress.
Her image had a slight fluoresce.
Then just as fast as she’d appeared.
Her ghostly apparition cleared.
It took all of their common sense.
To explain this strange experience.
Then one night as the wife was sleeping.
She awoke to find the ghost was peeping,
at her, as she lay in bed.
A sight that filled her up with dread.
But this ghost seemed not to bear ill-feeling,
as she played this game of brief revealing.
Then with a touch of Laissez Faire.
She vanished quickly in the air.
So when we heard this new disclosure.
We had to keep our strict composure.
We loved this house with all our might.
Why worry about a ghostly sight?
We bought the house with nervous laughter.
And moved our stuff in shortly after.
Wondering then, to what extent,
We’d see our ghostly resident.
But so far she has not presented.
Apparently she’s quite contented.
To share this house on old Brown Road.
This home with which we’ve been bestowed.
And now we’ve lived here many years.
Shared smiles and laughs and hugs and tears.
Regardless if we’re rich or poor.
We hope we’ll live here many more.
And if our ghost decides to show.
In all her radiance and glow.
I guess we’ll have to let her stay.
To haunt us for another day!