When I was young, I saw ghosts. Why?
For all was well. I walked through sun.
My dead are many, but they are not ghosts.
The ghosts are those I knew when young.
Better to walk, and never meet a ghost.
But those who smile, who turn through sun,
order the shots which send a stream of ghosts
against the day: the brave, the straight, the young.
If you have any comments on this poem, Alison Brackenbury
would be pleased to hear from you.