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
Monthly Archives: May 2014
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!
beeseeker 