A bend of the road
Is the first thing I see
When I open my eyes
And look out the window
Still half-asleep.
Like a tiny brook
It joins a small stream
Number One-Twenty-Five
Which runs all the way
To the mighty river
Called Ninety-Three.
I know every toss
And turn of the flow
That I meekly follow
Every morning and night
As I go to work
And come back, tired,
Navigating my car
Among other boats
That ceaselessly ply
Up and down the stream
Past gas stations
And burger kings and
An occasional shipwreck
In a never-ending tide
That heaves and subsides
With a natural rhythm
We call rush hours
As we accept
The bubble and swell
Of waters
Called forth
By the pull of the planets.
A bend of the road...
© Copyright: Андрей Белл, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104041201610
Свидетельство о публикации №104041201610
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