Ghost Children

By Blair Haft, age 12, Florida

 

On wet, breezy mornings
The ghost children come out to play
Swinging together on our old yellow swing
Aiding each other to climb
And shake the branches of our mango tree

They shoot hoops, resulting in a swish of our net
And rock to and fro on the hammock
Then cartwheel across the lawn
Their bare feet stirring up the soil

When the moon wakes up
To the mountains they retreat
Flattening the dew-covered blades of grass
Shouts and giggles echoing throughout
As they slip down the waterfalls
And slide on algae-covered stones

For the woods is their home
Though I look forward to cold, gusty days
And the activity in our backyard
When the ghost children emerge to play