THE wood grew very quiet As the road made a sudden turn; Then a wavering, furtive path crept out From the tangled briar and fern. "Where does it lead?" I asked the child; She shivered and shook her head. "It doesn't @3lead@1 to any place, It is running away!" she said. "It is running away on tiptoe Through the untrodden grass, To join the cheerful highroad, Where real, live people pass. "It runs from a heap of ruins Where a home stood in old days; But nothing living goes there now, And -- Nothing Living stays!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I MAY, I MIGHT, I MUST by MARIANNE MOORE LEFT-HANDED POEM by JAMES GALVIN ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER THE FLAME LIGHTS UP by DAVID IGNATOW TO MAY HOWARD JACKSON - SCULPTOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |