Eburne Town of Ghosts 2016

As the phantom dogs run along the edge of our vision,
A never seen apparition becomes a mission,
But the constant heard sounds of stalking pace,
From this frantic dream like a haunted tale that race,
The coyotes howl below the willows hollow,
From dens of pups so inquisitive and wild,
Once quaint dwellings brought in centuries gone by,
Sturdy kit homes have all vanished for this land sighs,
Only the gardens grow on with strict boarders still in place,
With hundreds of trees in delicious fruit,
And the delights of flowers of chrysanthemum, roses and marigolds grow on,
All staking claim to warn their flora neighbours their properties survive,
Ghostly gardeners tend to their chores in vain,
So hush for the winds wail that complains,
Mistakes for the cries of the lost spirits which once roamed,
Eburne the town of ghosts all hidden away to moan,
For now the apples that will never be picked,
On this first autumnal day by this cruel sunlight that tricks.