It’s been raining, constantly. Time for a poem about spirits.
Garden Under Lightning
(Ghost-Story) Out of the storm that muffles shining night Flash roses ghastly-sweet, And lilies far too pale. There is a pang of livid light, A terror of familiarity, I see a dripping swirl of leaves and petals That I once tended happily, Borders of flattened, frightened little things, And writhing paths I surely walked in that other life— Day? My specter-garden beckons to me, Gibbers horribly— And vanishes!