Poem I wrote

 .

.

.

Poem I wrote:

SPIRIT IN THE BRANCHES

It was a ghost not a spirit

I saw rise from the ground

In the old cemetery

At the edge of my town

I knew the difference

Between the two

A ghost is a memory

A spirit is new

New and still shining

With the life force inside

I once saw a spirit

Someone had just died

They died in a car wreck

From what I could see

That poor little spirit

Clung high up in a tree

I cried and I prayed

For that spirit to rise

To go to the light

Then I just dried my eyes

I don't know where

I don't know when

I just prayed for that spirit

To go home again

A ghost is a memory

Like an old film you see

But a spirit has Light

And can cling to a tree

.

.

.