Written on the Day Dead Ghosts Are Fed
They came, flying down the red carpet,
Ate, paid their respects, and went home,
Each with a small bag of favors:
A bracelet, a mirror, a comb.
That night, the rare sound of rainfall.
Tomorrow, then New Moon, then Spring!
I'd like to stay and hear your dreams
But what you see is what it seems:
Today awakens in you, or you're taken.