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MARSH GHOST

She played in the marsh, hair blowing, glimpse of bare feet. Reaching and grasping the frogs as they leap. The mud streaked on her legs; she is wearing no waders. She has no protection from the agile Gators. Where was her fear, guardians of this child? Left to her wanderings, young and fragile, roamed wild. Evening creeps, call of the Clapper Rail comes. Eerie vapor blankets the bank. Mist and she became one. The small, feathered ghost who hides in the reeds, The marsh wrens trill greets deep where it breeds. They allow her passage, as a silence occurs. She slips into darkness and the new moon befalls her. No many could survive in environment so harsh. She ignored all my calls, this child of the marsh. It went from day to night in the blink of an eye. The only sound now was the Clapper Rail cry. I must get to dry ground to find one sliver of moon. For the creatures of the night will find me soon. A girl ghost of the marsh, hair aglow with bare feet. Beware where she leads you, if by chance you should meet. © SUSAN ILA DAVIS Susan was born in Michigan to a once large, Irish descent family. Her first real memory of how real the world could be, was the death of John F. Kennedy. Sitting on her mother's knees in front of a black and white television, she heard and felt the sobs of her mother. Empathy was born. She moved to Ohio, where she learned to transfer her feelings and imagination into something tangible. With her graphite wand, she would weave her journey on pages. Her first published poem was in O.S.U. newsletter. She writes of love, loss, trauma and reflections observed. She has been published in several Anthologies. Susan was inspired to create art and started drawing and painting later in life. Some of her art is attached to poems posted on various sites. She has lived now in Georgia, for many years, with her daughter and beloved cats.

MARSH GHOST
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