And I Look Out …

Cuckoo-winds blow

Out from high, laburnum-intoxicated valleys

Where they grow restless.

White ‘n’ shadow sundae clouds

Are hedges blown across

The clear blue garden fields of Heav’n … Continue reading

My Choice ?

So, at the green,

I choose the old road,

The slipped-from-habit road,

The little-travelled-these -days road,

The road the centuries marched

And different centuries marked –

When a thousand paces

Meant something so much more:

Straight along,

Going along,

Right along;

Built an empire,

Kept an empire supplied,

Kept an empire together;

Rolling out the limits,

Rolling out the possibilities.

The old road

That was the main road –

The only road –

That now takes a quieter turn

(Where no turn was before)

Beside a slicker, smoother

Supposedly-superior offspring.

My choice?

The old road …

Every time!