You came to me at three in the morning,
you are a figment in my weary mind.
Your gnawled hand with it's broken nails,
reaching through the ether pleadingly.
Dressed in a drab grey dress and bonnet,
moth eaten shawl covering your shoulders.
An over powering sense of sadness prevails,
for I feel that you are not lost, but stranded.
I hear you whisper, a hoarse mournful whisper,
your breath so cold it chills my soul, - I shiver.
"Please, Sir, can ye spare me a mere two coppers?"
"So's I can catch the ferry to be with Jimmy."
I found two old pennies in my cupboard,
I took them and buried them in my garden,
I pray a ghost from Mr. Dickens found them,
and is now on her way to join her Jimmy.
(c)09/03/2010