It’s an apparition, my dear Watson

Gas lights all night
play lowly tricks
oer the weary eyed,
some flicker right here,
a shadowing there.

And begad! You’re seeing ghosts.

Reflections in a mirror
glimpsed from creaking chair,
and when you prod there,
tis gone, Sir, gone.

A library ghost you’ll never find,
non belief its first hiding nook,
and clues, no, don’t be mistook.

Nor will it come forth,
pose in a photographic plate,
did you think that might be the case.

Take a first edition book,
but then please don’t look
at the ones untouched left behind,
for they’ll all tell tales on you.

Best dear Sir, to sit by the fire
and simply acquire
that in our comfortable zones,
we will never understand
unelementary homes.