Whispers from the Past

On some misty morning, when the earth is hushed and still,
When the fog obscures the treetops and hides both lake and rill,
Go reverently and quietly, and listen for the sounds;
You'll see the past, and hear it, when the ghosts go on their rounds.

Ghosts don't come in sunlight, they don't come in blinding storm;
They gather in the silver light, when mist brings in the morn.
They move cautiously and slowly, to make the moment last,
Entertaining all who listen with whispers from the past.

They talk of things that used to be, as they move along their way,
And, all too soon, they disappear, as mist turns into day.
You can watch in silent wonder, as their lines begin to form;
You can hear them - if you listen - on some shrouded misty morn.
Nancy Brister
When I wrote this poem several years ago, I placed it on the home page of my Whispers
site.  It was there for some time, until I re-worked the page and removed it.  I still receive a
message occasionally from someone asking if there's a link to it.  There hasn't been, but
when I saw the photo of the New Orleans streetcar in the mist, I thought of the poem and
decided to give it a home on the Old New Orleans site.  New Orleans is filled with memories
- and some say ghosts - of days gone by.  Sometimes, on a foggy night in the French
Quarter, it feels as if those ancient buildings want to speak.  But, maybe it's the voices of
long ago residents who are trying to make themselves heard?
-- Nancy
Whispers from the Past