Billie looking for ghosts

As Billie daily commuted the roads of her sea garden home,
she could not but be regarding each time she saw a tall old man,
hair white in the Sun, unbidden her heart leaping,
and dad on her lips, catching in her throat.
The reality was, the Oldman some years ago
had sailed his boat across the heavenly moat.
After sacrificing all in him that was goat.
Pride dead and humility born.
Humbleness growing like a full head of corn.
In Billieís reality her eyes reconnoitering every road he walked,
each bus stop he habitually preferred.
Each time, every spurt of leaping hope deferred.
Although she knew, on expectations her heart would still chew.
No matter how many buttons she would sew and sew.
So it was and was this what everyone else was looking at through their car windows.
Were we all looking for beloved departed ghosts
but each day had disappointed boasts,
as we returned home along the coasts.
It might be better to focus on evening roasts and,
live until heavenly recall from earthly occupy and hold posts.
Leaving the earthly body in the Earth moored and
crossing the spiritual sea to heavens door.
Earthly cares would be herís no more,
having crossed the divine shore,
and restored to the heavenly core.
Billie slammed on the brakes !!
She was a coat of paint away from Richterís four runner.
She was back to cares and her yelling gunner,
but Billie knew she was a stunner,
and when in play a true hummer.