The ghosts of yesterday hid beneath the weeping willow tree,
Where shadows danced in eerie spree,
A graveyard silently mourned the dead,
With whispered secrets softly revealed.
The moonlight cast a spectral glow,
On tombstones lined in solemn rows,
Each name had a story carved in stone,
Of lives now lost, of souls alone.
In this cold ground, they found no rest,
Their spirits were heavy and oppressed,
They wandered beneath the mournful skies,
With hollow hearts and tearful eyes.
Once vibrant lives, now dimmed by time,
In spectral plays, in mournful rhyme,
They lingered everywhere in silent grief,
Their only solace was autumn’s leaves.
The nights grew long, the days were few,
And shadows lengthened, taking hue,
In this place where time stood immobile,
The air became cold with winter’s chill.
A figure dressed in gloomy grief,
Sorrow etched upon their face,
Weeping for love that slipped away,
For dreams that died in disarray.
A fleeting life in empty nights, in endless despair,
Lost in echoes of forgotten longings,
Grasping at shadows that vanished in the air,
Yearning for solace that’s never there.
They haunted the night, they haunted the day,
In endless search, they found no way,
Their whispers chilled the autumn air,
Their presence was felt but never there.
During the long walks through this dark place,
Beware the ghosts, their sorrowed grace,
For in their eyes, there will be fears,
In their whispers, there will be tears.
In this desolate land of endless grief,
Each memory served as a thief,
Stealing joy, sowing woe,
In a place where only shadows grew.
The wind carried their mournful sighs,
Through moonlit nights and cloudy skies,
An eternal flow of grief and sorrow,
Where no dawn promised a brighter tomorrow.
The ghosts of yesterday forever dwelled in this arcane realm,
Trapped in their own eternal misery.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
