Holy Ghost!

They’s ghosts in my woods,

They seem stealthy and quiet,

They’re watching me though,

As I go,

Invisibly white.

They seem to be moving,

With arms outstretched,

They seem to be calling,

“Come fetch! Come fetch!”

Every Spring it seems,

They seem to appear,

All dotted, about,


Here and there.

For there,

They belong,

Hiding ‘mongst leaf-less trees,

Seemly traipsing,

On fresh springtime breeze.

For, you see, they’ve,

frequented these woods,

Neigh, many a’ year,

From my good ghosts,

You see,

You’ve nothing to fear

In fact, dear ghosts,

You mean so much to me,

To me, dear ghost,

you’re more that a tree.

Dear ghost you see,

You’re the tree of life,

Yearly renewed Beauty,

You remind me of Christ.

You see tree, your special,

For that Mark on your flower,

Your Dogwooded beckning’

That very hour,

That, That Tree saved our souls,