The Ghost Of Rabbie Burns

My grandmother Mary Somewhat bitterly recalled How the family was Swindled, by an unscrupulous Brother-in-law who stole The family inheritance through A trickery of legal wrangling. But he was just a businessman Doing what comes naturally Making money fist over hand. While she was a dreamer With a poet's heart— In the fields with her sister Painting cornstalks Singing songs in the parlor The moon peeping through the window… Not for her, the dreary Ashland farm, rain-soaked in Ohio. No. She belonged to another world: A mansion high on a Scottish hill With a great wooden staircase and Curling banister Where, in a rocker by the fire, on cold Winter evenings, the ghost of Rabbie Burns would set her On his knee and whisper Stories of the Highlands. She married a teacher A man of honor and little money And lived a simple life Nothing fancy, no, but sure There can be no doubt that In the end Hers was a dream worth keeping. ~ Laurence Overmire (Previously published in The Other Voices International Project, April 2006; The Ghost of Rabbie Burns: An American Poet's Journey Through Scotland, Indelible Mark Publishing,2016)