I’m All, “And the Night Visitor!”

Last night at the witching hour
I was wandering sleeplessly,
Looking for wholesome flour
To make anti-insomnia tea.

At my kitchen window
A specter raised its head.
Startled, I said, “Hello,
O ghost. How is it that you’re dead?

“And what’s your name, by the bye?
Would you like to come in for tea?”
A mournful shrug was the reply.
I heard not, though I could see.

The ghost went his way, anonymous,
And I reflected over my tea
That such is the fate of the posthumous.
Would a name do more for me?