I am sitting at a table not far from a small iron gate

Two raven haired waitresses flit in and out of the shadows

Of the shady terrace

They ignore me

I am fair of complexion and it is likely that I cannot be seen

Against the radiance of the pale flowers

Neither of the waitresses are beautiful

But I want them to visit my table

So that I may marvel at their raven hair

They secretly flirt with the other guests

Yet do not approach me

But this is their loss

As ghosts are by far the most exotic of all creatures