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by teacher: Rye Alumni
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The Windmire ghost

along the banks of Windmire,
a town that's greatly feared.
I was there in that fire,
that burnt it to a drear.

All lived,
but one died,
and now I'm on my own.
So now I haunt this little town,
until December's gone.
Oh how I miss those winding streets,
lined with shops and stores.
But now it's all just history,
gone forever more.

I also miss my family,
I cant find their familiar face,
I've looked for them years already,
but heaven's a great big place.

- the song I wrote
Article posted January 27, 2010 at 08:42 AM • comment • Reads 41 • Return to Blog List
 
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