The Price ( A Conctance Hatchaway poem.. under my other name HomeSweet Haunt)
Constance had hatboxes
that nearly caused a riot.
They followed her around the manse
refusing to be quiet,
They gibbered at her night and day
they said they missed her so.
They rolled behind her when she walked
wherever she would go.
The Ghost Host had enough of this
"We need some changes made," he said.
"You can't disturb the other ghosts
because you had to get ahead."
So now she sits out on the porch
with her grisly company.
The boxes are content, because they've made their point you see.
For every act, there is a price
that's paid eventually.
