Bobby’s Haunted House
In Irish tales
Of ships and sails
And foggy glens
With spirits bright
There comes a tale
Of a haunted house
That lost it’s owner
On a Moonless Night.
Now Bobby McLearie
Bought the house
And dealt with the spirits
For many a year
Then after a time
He found them funny
And laughed at the sounds
That many did fear.
When the chains in the attic
Dragged on the floor
Or the cries were heard
From within the walls
Bobby would dance
And play the fiddle
In the kitchen and basement
And up and down halls.
Bobby would laughingly
Mock the crying
The moans and the groans
And that wailing sound.
He would stand on the roof
And howl at the moon
Whenever the Banshees
Would fly around.
Pixies and Fairies
And Leprechauns too
Stay away
From Bobby’s house.
Yes
That dwelling is a place of fear
To all
Even the kitchen mouse.
But not so for Bobby
No fear does he feel
And to dread
He never plays hoist
For Bobby died
Many years ago
And now
He’s just a ghost.
D. Thurmond / JEF
03-18-2018
Just my yearly St. Patty's poem, but I was late this time. LOL
