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.

What brings you here to knock on my door,

in conditions one should surely abhor.

Holding my Wife, my life, while she plays that weary fife.

Appearance of a Specter was I to investigate,

and if not for the weather I would not hesitate.

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

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

Take to my food and drink of my ale,

listen to the music my betroth here wails.

Hear 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.

I consider it an insult in my home no less,

by the display you foster of your mindless jest.

Now listen to my Wife, my life, while she plays that bleary fife.

Now you dare to declare I am mad,

a sad comment coming from you, a frighten man.

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 Ghost screech their cursed call.

So listen to my Wife, my life, while she plays that eerie fife.

What do you say, you clown of the untrue,

my wife has perished this past year of the flu.

Then who sits besides me that I hold so dear,

an apparition you say that I should fear.

Never could I lose one so close to me.

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

I'll listen to my Wife, my life, while she plays that dreary fife.

I promise dear, that you I shall never leave,

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

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 teary fife.

There is a line in the poem that reads,
"starve the bardies."

The line is an Australian slang meaning,
"An exclamation of surprise or protest."

I wrote the poem,
“1800 Aussie Ghost Story,”
when I came across the phrase,
“Starve the Bardies.”
I can't remember where or how I came across the phrase,
but I was so intrigued by it that I wrote this poem around that one phrase.