Of Ghosts and Angels

Protected from the wind and sands
Inside the streets of Galveston,
The walls rose to a height not seen
By me

Through huge double doors
Into a room of polished rosewood,
the ceiling domed like churches
Carved by Angels

The curators had lovingly placed
Chairs as they should be,
Worn rugs as they always were
A child's room standing empty

This is the saddest sight of all
In this home that feels unloved,
As if the inhabitants were never
Really involved with each other

Ghosts whispering down the hall
Peering through ancient stained windows,
At these visitors who have the gall
To pretend they knew something of these.