Theme Thursday=Ghost

Medieval town of Besalu, Spain

Ghost what can I say about them, I don't really know. I have read and been told they are friendly or menacing. Among the friendly ghosts I have seen on TV are Casper. Remember how cute he was. Another ghost I loved to watch on TV was the sea captain in the Ghost and Mrs Muir. In literature I remember the ghost in Charles Dickens the Christmas Carol. And there was Hamlet's father in the works of William Shakespeare. I wonder how many and what type of ghosts might be wondering around Besalu. These ancient walls have tales to tell, I wonder what they are.

What is a ghost? I'm not really certain.
Do I believe in ghost? Yes I do.
Have I ever seen a ghost? I'm not certain. I can't say if it was a ghost or a spirit. Years ago I was awakened by a spirit that resembled Christ in a white robe. To this day I believe it was a visitation from the Lord. I was not frighten, but at peace when it happened. At the end I was given the answer to a question I had about another person. That's all I have to say about this subject. I'll leave you with a poem.

Our Little Ghost
a poem by Louisa May Alcott

Oft in the silence of the night,
When the lonely moon rides high,
When wintry winds are whistling,
And we hear the owl's shrill cry,
In the quiet, dusky chamber,
By the flickering firelight,
Rising up between two sleepers,
Comes a spirit all in white.

A winsome little ghost it is,
Rosy-cheeked, and bright of eye;
With yellow curls all breaking loose
From the small cap pushed awry.
Up it climbs among the pillows,
For the "big dark" brings no dread,
And a baby's boundless fancy
Makes a kingdom of a bed.

A fearless little ghost it is;
Safe the night seems as the day;
The moon is but a gentle face,
And the sighing winds are gay.
The solitude is full of friends,
And the hour brings no regrets;
For, in this happy little soul,
Shines a sun that never sets.

A merry little ghost it is,
Dancing gayly by itself,
On the flowery counterpane,
Like a tricksy household elf;
Nodding to the fitful shadows,
As they flicker on the wall;
Talking to familiar pictures,
Mimicking the owl's shrill call.

A thoughtful little ghost if is;
And, when lonely gambols tire,
With chubby hands on chubby knees,
It sits winking at the fire.
Fancies innocent and lovely

Shine before those baby-eyes,
Endless fields of dandelions,
Brooks, and birds, and butterflies.

A loving little ghost it is:
When crept into its nest,
Its hand on father's shoulder laid,
Its head on mother's breast,
It watches each familiar face,
With a tranquil, trusting eye;
And, like a sleepy little bird,
Sings its own soft lullaby.

Then those who feigned to sleep before,
Lest baby play till dawn,
Wake and watch their folded flower
Little rose without a thorn.
And, in the silence of the night,
The hearts that love it most
Pray tenderly above its sleep,
"God bless our little ghost!"