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I'm such a quiet little ghost
Demure, and inoffensive
Although the other spirits say
I'm mostly apprehensive
Throughout the quiet hours of night
Im uniformly cheerful
I love the dark...but, in the light
I own I'm rather fearful
Each dawn I cower down in bed
In every lightness seeing,
That weird, uncanny form of dread
An awful human being!
Of course, I know they can't exist,
That nature would not let them,
But Willy Spook the Humanist
Declares that he has met them
He says they do not glide like us
But walk in eerie paces
They're solid, not diaphanous
With arms, and legs, and faces
They talk of art, the horrid crew
And things they call ambitions
Of course I know as well as you
Theyre only superstitions
But should the dreadful day arrive
When starting up, I see one
I'm sure twould scare me quite alive
And then, oh dear, I'd be one!

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