The Spectral Parade

The Spectral Parade

Noon, October 26, the Saturday before Halloween…

~ Eight there were

in staggered line.

The view unfettered

by brush or by pine.

With laughter and song

wither they go.

Their final destination,

nobody knows.

~ Great bags they all carried.

Parcels for travel.

The mysteries therein

none could unravel.

A grandparent, there was.

And Father and Mother.

with children all ages

right down to a toddler.

~ They frolicked and waved.

Children gamboled about.

As they marched down the road

they filled me with doubt.

Where did they come from?

Where did they go?

And why from a cemetery?

I just didn’t know.

~ No truck and no car.

No way out of here.

They passed and were gone,

which led me to fear.

For naught could I tell 

whether Solid or Shade.

A visiting family,

or Spectral Parade?

~ So keep your old stories

of mists and midnight.

In Gebo Wyoming

they walk in daylight.

Happy Halloween,

from the poet of Kirby Creek.