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Words From A Wanderer

I do not know your wooded slopes and streams

But as the passing stranger knows the way

The nets of dusk have trapped the ending day,

When webs of shadow snare the filtered gleams;

I only know how dim the pathway seems

And how the dust from many roads of gray,

Has sunk into my heart and made me pay

With tears and loneliness for these few dreams.

I do not know the way the hearth-light burns

Nor how the kiss of childish lips may feel,

I only know the way the mad sea churns

And how the blowing spray, like bits of steel,

Can tear like savage teeth, and rip from me,

These last reluctant hopes, and leave me free.

Louis L'Amour

Photo by Gigi