This poem was inspired by the many incidents which I was able to see and behold in my capacity as a bus driver, my job causes me to be out there on the roads and in the lines of fire, one might say, much more than I would have liked to, but, it's a job and somebody has got to do it. anyways we are not here today to talk about me and why I do what I do. I'm here to give you the words to this poem called, "The road." You can find it also on YouTube, and listen to the poem in the author's own voice on the podcast.  And please, do remember to subscribe, and share the love. Now, here's the lyrics to the poem called, The Road.

The Road. Lilly white roses, yellow pink and red. Freshly cut flowers piled high in bundles. Monuments of sacraments amidst the flickering lights, of many burning candles. Heartfelt offerings from strangers and friends. For one whose life on this very spot met its fatal end. I see them there a teddy bear, on well-carved lawns corner lots, I see them everywhere. Bouquets and crosses mark the sites of loved ones loses. That bridge once crossed means innocence loss, and another mother cries, Papa sighs, crying, sighing for a child who was not coming home, much too soon gone. Ghost cycle painted white, chained up against corrugated lamppost beneath city lights. There, on the corner where his last ride ends in doom. It’s an exhibit there in memory of one, gone too soon. Holes burned black in asphalt that marks well the spot. Twisted metals and debris there I see fragments of the impact. Which sends unsuspecting souls to yonder homes never to return here. Dangers they say lurks on every road, some real some imagined, beware, users beware. Firemen’s hoses’ powerful beams. Washes the bleeding down a sewer stream, yet, while one walks these shiny streets. The bloodstain whines beneath the feet. Those trucks and cars with flashing lights. As seen from far through the still dark nights, weary troopers fast losing sleep. Must reopen these roads so with brooms they sweep, and mop, and wash and scrub the surface clean. Of all that’s left, of a mother’s treasured dream. Calvin drove his Cherokee JeepDown a ravine sloping steep, and into the icy cold water it sunk deep, Nose first down, and bubbles came up. Then snow fell down and covered him in. And yet the road just keeps on twisting, turning, winding along. She marches to the beat of her own tam, tam. She doesn’t care much about all that zoom, zoom, zooming along. Honking flashing, flipping crushing, rolling up in mangled wreck/less abandoned of foolish exuberance wrapped up, in the hearts of the simple and the young. She’s just the road friend and foe of the wayfaring man. She takes one from point A to point B and all other points in between them. Other than that, she don’t give a damn. By; E Lloyd Kelly 2015