At night my friend and I would look up at the stars
without a telescope we would pour the night into two jars
my mother claimed that in our chimney lived a ghost
he would elude the flames and do his utmost
to make mischief creating shapes out of the smoke
By the fire my Mother would tell stories of the nightjars
they were as elusive as fire of the nearest stars
under the moon at night I would hear my Mother sing
our intelligent sleeping ghost would wake, joining in whistling
In the morning my jar was filled with the splendid sounds
of nightjars my friend and I slowly searched the grounds
for this elusive bird in the graveyards and the local park
we watched the swans take flight close to dark
uplift from water to wing was like a gift of gold from castle to king
with beauty gone we were like a ruby separated from it's ring