Ghosts In The Garden

Andrea’s garden at the top of the hill
Holds many mysteries and it always will.
One day’s digging unearthed a broken pistol,
And some strange non-human bones.
Beware of broken glass among the stones.
Here sits a rusted old double bit ax head
Among treasures, memories living and dead.


Andrea’s garden overlooks the town,
Plants growing and mysteries abound;
An old cellar hole and blackened rock mound
Tell of a past shrouded in local lore
But tattered ghosts tread there no more.
And the locals pass on by without a look,
History’s ghost; another page in a dusty book.

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