A Ghost

While crossing the park he crossed her path,

Immediately his face turned pale,

She was a ghost, the nostalgic kind,

Ghosts don't appear at midday,

Flashes of memories and inside jokes,

Rematerialized instantly,

Of walking the city late hours of the night,

Her smiling and pouting coyly,

They were all short lived,

Too short you'd suppose, the flashes were gone,

And so was she, (We all stand corrected)

At midday, ghosts don't last very long.

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