Sam Here;s a poem for you by Mark Strand called The Hill: I have come this far on my own legs, missing the bus, missing taxis, climbing always. One foot in front of the other, that is the way I do it.
It does not bother me, the way the hill goes on. Grass beside the road, a tree rattling its black leaves. So what? The longer I walk, the farther I am from everything.
One foot in front of the other. The hours pass. One foot in front of the other. The years pass. The colors of arrival fade. That is the way I do it.
Sam Here;s a poem for you by Mark Strand called The Hill:
ReplyDeleteI have come this far on my own legs,
missing the bus, missing taxis,
climbing always. One foot in front of the other,
that is the way I do it.
It does not bother me, the way the hill goes on.
Grass beside the road, a tree rattling
its black leaves. So what?
The longer I walk, the farther I am from everything.
One foot in front of the other. The hours pass.
One foot in front of the other. The years pass.
The colors of arrival fade.
That is the way I do it.