I hear the ghosts stomping.
They are trying to wake me
but what is the point
when there's no one else awake?
I turn to you
on the fourth of July
and the sky is quiet.
I see the flags waving
but I promise you
the breeze is a trick.
(©CaseyReneeKiser2007)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem