The Ghost That Rocked My Baby

The Ghost That Rocked My Baby

Every evening at twilight,
before the stars would wake,
my baby’s little cradle
would gently start to shake.
No footsteps crossed the floorboards,
no shadow crossed the room,
only soft and silent rocking
through the gathering gloom.

At first I blamed the old house,
its age, its creaks, its sighs.
Until I heard a lullaby
that drifted through the skies.
A voice as warm as candlelight,
gentle, sweet and low,
singing songs my grandmother
had sung so long ago.

I searched each dusty corner,
every staircase worn,
yet found no living soul inside
from evening until morn.
Still every night the cradle moved,
steady as the tide,
while someone watched with loving care
from somewhere just outside.

The years have passed.
My child has grown.
The cradle’s put away.
Yet sometimes when the moon is full,
I hear that song still play.
Not every ghost seeks vengeance.
Not every spirit cries.
Some simply keep a promise
that never truly dies.

So if your lonely heart one night
feels comfort none can see,
perhaps a loving soul still walks
between eternity.
For love can cross the greatest distance,
death cannot deny…
I still bless the ghost that rocked my baby.

Every time it heard her cry

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