©Robert C Burnham, all rights reserved


For Kushal, and the ghosts he walks with.

They keep his way narrow and his path straight.


I wonder who grandfather was

During the great rain

Moisture muffles sound

And it did his

All too soon


Blood never asks

It should accept

The beggar at the door

As well as the rich man

Emblazoned on a crest


There are times when

The path less taken

Ends too abruptly

Where lilies speak softly

And memory never calls


~ ~ ~

About the Author ()

My trade and I parted ways... I am now a Geography Major at UNC. And I am still a Christian Cowboy Werewolf Writer, Poet & Photographer.

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