1800 Aussie Ghost Story

Outside flashes a rogue of weather,

made my wife and I band together.

Before the fire that keeps us warm,

we sit protected against the storm.

Holding my wife, my life,

while she plays that teary fife.

A visitor does call on this frightful night,

to plead my help in his awful blight.

I have been known to dabble in those cases,

where mystery in itself is the basis.

Hear my wife, my life,

while she plays that weary fife.

What brings you here to knock on my door,

in conditions one should surely abhor.

Appearance of a Specter was I to investigate,

and if not for the weather I would not hesitate.

Now listen to my wife, my life,

while she plays that dreary fife.

I say to you, sit my old friend and gentleman,

we will wait out the storm, here, while we can.

Take of my food and drink of my ale.

Listen to the music my betroth here wails.

So listen to my wife, my life,

while she plays that leery fife.

I do not understand your laugh so hearty,

you embarrass me, while here you “Starve the Bardies.”

How can you look at me with such eyes,

as crazed by my promise to your query you apprise.

Holding my wife, my life,

while she plays that eerie fife.

I consider it an insult in my home no less,

by the display you foster of your mindless jest.

Now you dare to declare I am mad.

A sad comment coming from you, a frightened man.

Hear my wife, my life,

while she plays that bleary fife.

He who sees the Specters flying about.

What nerve you announce that I say you flout.

I will capture those Spirits all.

Never again will those Ghosts screech their cursed call.

Now listen to my wife, my life,

while she plays that teary fife.

What do you say, you clown of the untrue,

my wife has perished this past year of the flu.

Then who sits beside me that I hold so dear,

an apparition you say that I should fear.

Can't you hear my wife, my life,

while she plays that leery fife.

Never could I lose one so close to me.

You will take your leave, no longer welcomed you see.

I promise dear, that you, I shall never leave.

That fool thinks I'm mad since I will not grieve.

I'll listen to my wife, my life,

while she plays that dreary fife.

Why would I live in a world without you,

gloom overwhelming, a heart with nothing to do.

So sit here I will, with the fires to stoke,

burning the house, to be as you, a whisper of smoke.

I must listen for my wife, my life,
while she plays that eerie fife.

I wrote the poem, “1800 Aussie Ghost Story,” when I came across the phrase, “Starve the Bardies.”

It's Australian slang, meaning - an exclamation of surprise or protest.

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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