The Christmas Ghost

he just wants to join in

He hangs around the Christmas Tree,
gets tangled in the lights,
baubles rain down on his head,
we hear them fall at night.

He steps upon the presents
wrinkles the wrapping paper,
I don’t know how he does it,
he’s only smoke and vapour.

He joins in with the carols
though no-one else can hear,
and lingers by the mistletoe
in case a kiss comes near.

He sits down at the table
set for a Christmas feast,
I wish that he could join us for
a slice of cake, at least.

It rarely snows at Christmas
but out there in the rain,
I see his mournful visage
through frosted window pane.

The others cannot see him
although I point and stare,
in fact, they just ignore me
as if they do not care.

How is it I espy him
while other folk can’t see?
Seems only ghosts see other ghosts
beneath the Christmas Tree.

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