Ghost

Sweeping softly on the plains
I turn my head
With deep regret
To face the window there
And in the darkness
Of the setting stars
I feel the call
Upon my back
On I march
And still so near
The voice I no longer wish to hear
At the visage I stare
And she stares back at me
And though with the sun
She fades away
I can feel her eyes on mine
And the farther I tread
Be it fast or slow
She always catches up to me