There is no better description of Wayne Greenhaw's first book of poems than the one he penned for his introduction: If you're looking for perfect poetry, go to Yeats or Shelley or Keats. These poems are simply recollections, and I make no apologies for my rough and ragged rhymes, my torn and tattered couplets, my unmitigated, imperfect alliteration. These portraits are snatches of myself, my observations, my life that has been so enhanced by loved ones and great friends, some of whom I remember here. I have been blessed . . . Here in the pages of Ghosts on the Road, you may walk with me, see the world as I have seen it, and enjoy the sights and tastes, the sounds and feelings of my people.