The night was dark, the streets were bare, A shadowy figure lingered there. It stood in silence, cold and grim, Its piercing glare sent chills within. Fear took hold, yet I could see, This soul was lost, not meant to be. No warmth to share, no hand to raise, A ghostly form in death’s embrace. I ran until my breath grew weak, Through endless streets so dim and bleak. Then, in the distance, shining bright, A tiny shop of golden light. Inside, a man in a cap so neat Spoke in whispers, calm yet sweet: "Go home, my child, rest your head," As if he knew the haunting dread. I turned once more—the ghost still stood, But at the sight of him, it flew for good. The shop remains, its glow still there, The man in the cap with silvered hair. Yet the mystery lingers in the air, A tale unsolved—beyond compare
