The Convent Ghost


The ageing abbess wanders the grounds
Her sight, her balance a problem now
And her memory worn down to blisters

Inside the main hall she fingers away
At the old badly tuned grand piano
Bequeathed by one of her sisters

Up in the choir loft she pauses, hearing
An ethereal melody, softly embroidered
By a band of unseen angelic choristers


This is a response to the prompts at

It seems an appropriate posting for this Samhain evening.


About Ben Naga

Pilgrim on the lam. Please feel free to explore the links to learn more. I trust you will find some things there will have been worth the effort. See you there.

Posted on October 31, 2015, in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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