Ghost

by Columbine

At dawn she seeks the garden's brightest blooms
To jumble in a leaded-crystal vase
By noon their colors twice adorn her rooms
In oil on canvas, and their chosen place
Then, scrubbed of paint and pert of hair and face
She joins her friends to share their merry day
And welcome is her cleverness and grace
At teatime chat and leisurely croquet
As longer grow the shades and short the day
She takes her leave, before a telltale sigh
Can start to give her spurned desires away
Or sunset's anxious hue besmirch her eye
As now the evening's quietude draws nigh
Her boon companion Music, and a book
Transport her where no mortal flesh might fly
Here where no human eye has cause to look
No ripple forms where fall her secret tears
For in the moon's soft light, she disappears

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