Track to Nowhere
Under dark, he staggers
And stumbles to sleep
On his rumbling, iron bed.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
Title | Comments | Submitted |
---|---|---|
Title | Comments | Submitted |
Cherish the Grain | 1 | 07/17/2013 |
Beneath the Bridge | 0 | 07/16/2013 |
The Maker | 0 | 07/16/2013 |
Track to Nowhere | 0 | 07/16/2013 |
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.