The moaning mansion isn’t haunted (yet),
no ghosts or ghouls, no poltergeist
not a single soul are visiting from a far beyond,
Yet the rooms upstairs aren’t empty (yet)
Still barefooted, in dust she walks,
Miss Otonashi, back and forth;
with nightgown threadbared grey,
she stares through windows, glares
with corpse lights in her eyes. Wild haired
still she butterflies from room to room…
calling for her baby, calling for her groom.
Miss Otonashi never goes to sleep before it’s 3 AM;
she dreams of seaweed, breaking waves,
the stranded ship she left alone.
The moaning mansion isn’t haunted (yet).