Poem/story of a winter haunt
|The Winter Child
A mossy, faded tombstone
leans by a gnarled, old oak tree.
The name is barely legible;
the only date, 1863.
The tale told by the locals
when the winter winds do blow,
one will hear the plaintive vocals
of the unfortunate who lies below.
A girl-child caught a winter chill,
her body wracked by cough and fever.
Her mother sat with her until
the coughing stopped forever.
Tenderly, she was interred
under the favorite old oak tree.
Her parents so heartbroken;
the child was only three.
The family eventually moved away,
the memories too much to bear.
It started then the locals say,
the tree is haunted they all swear.
Some say that they have seen her,
she holds her teddy bear.
She only appears when the weather
will be anything but fair.
If you listen very closely
when the winter winds do moan,
you’ll hear the ghost cry so forlornly,
“Mommy, please come home.”