Hello and welcome back to the Daily Poem here in the Closer Reeds Podcast Network. I am David Kern.

This week is Halloween. And even if you're not into that holiday, even if you don't celebrate or trick-or-treat or dress up or throw parties or decorate your house in strange and mysterious ways, it's still a good

week to read some creepy poems. So I figured I'm going to read poems that have a Halloween bent.

Now, I won't, you know, I won't get into anything too weird, but there are still some great poems out there

that are both fun and creepy, and some that are pretty meaningful and a little bit creepy.

Today's poem is by Ednais and Vincent Malay. She lived from 1892 to 1950, and received the Pulitzer

Prize for Poetry in 1923. At the time, she was just the third woman to win the

award for poetry. Richard Wilbur, who I read, I believe last week, wrote that Edna S. Ednaz,

Vincent Malay, wrote some of the best sonnets of the century for what that's worth. Today's poem

is called The Little Ghost. And here's how it goes.

I knew her for a little ghost that in my garden walked.

The wall is high, higher than most, and the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that till after she was gone.

I knew her by the broad white hat, all ruffled she had on, by the deer ruffles round her feet, by her small hands that hung in their lace mitts, austere and sweet, her gowns

white folds among. I watched to see if she would stay, what she would do, and oh, she looked as if she liked the way

I let my garden grow. She bent above my favorite mint with conscious garden grace. She smiled and

smiled. There was no hint of sadness on her face. She held her gown on either side to let her

slippers show.

And up the walk she went with pride the way great ladies go.

And where the wall is built in New and is of Ivy Bear, she paused,

then opened and passed through a gate that once was there.

This is one of those masterful poems that a real poets produce.

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