The darkness haunts the dusty books,
But there she walks and never looks,
Her footsteps echo for many miles,
I’m not scared, I am only a child.
There she sits at the lonely desk,
Stamping books that aren’t there,
Once a teacher, now a ghost,
Who would dare to come close?
Back bent, buckled and twisted,
Hands horrible and cold,
Hair grey as stone and very old,
I am stuck in the library, I want to go home!
by Lizzie Pinkney (9)
Competition - Poetry Detectives
Copyright remains with the author.