By circumstance or happenstance
By vigilance or fear
With coffers packed in haste I ride
And at the inn appear

Where science and philosophy
Thrive in convergent ways
Where pines and palms commingle
And Steinway itself plays

Love songs for the departed
And those who still believe
No ordinary night this is
It is All Hallows’ Eve

Upward bops the polished lift
Old brass and marbled floor
With stops and starts delivers me
To hallway number four

I stalk the silent corridors
Unsure of what I seek
Till laughter draws me to the child
With mutton sleeve and apple cheek

Perhaps this night delights her
When elves and goblins dance
And spirits are awakened
A playmate please, perchance?

Her eyes grow wide, her laughter stills
She peeks through sausage curl
Is this the child of 1901
Ill-fated little girl?

Extinguished in the midday blaze
A carefree life cut short
A hopeful soul still wandering
Which death could not abort

Or might she be a traveler
Alighting at this post
And viewing me in gliding robes
Is sure she’s seen a ghost?

Dorothea Barth 2010© Vallejo CA USA

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