***
I tread upon a treeless path,
Upon this dusty road.
Around me is a large wide strath,
As brown as an old toad.
There is no wind to sing a song,
And no large trees come hither.
The road winds down so very long,
The toad skin might just wither.
I cough on air, the dust so thick,
My throat so parched and sore.
I come upon a large white stick,
To help me furthermore.
"Alas!" I think, "Is there no hope?
"Where does this journey end?"
I’ve got no food, I’ve got no rope,
And tattered clothes to mend.
I am no expert busheler,
And I’ve gotten very thin.
A hot and dusty traveler,
That’s what I’ve always been.
Endless Journey
© Copyright: Аделина Грант, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114042001150
Свидетельство о публикации №114042001150
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