by Nick Gisburne
She wasn’t there before, but every day
I see her face, her shadow, on the door.
In whispered words she speaks, at last, to say
She knows me, knows the life I lived before.
Impossible that I could be the man,
The love she lost, and longs for me to be,
And yet, she has a finely fashioned plan,
A scheme she is insistent I should see.
The ghost, the girl, this princess of the past,
Assures me she was then, and will be, mine,
If only I release her soul at last.
She offers me a document to sign.
I’m just a tad suspicious, I’ll be frank,
Of giving her the password to my bank.
