Untitled

Untitled

The burning ridge...
The people standing in the fields...
The silent road....
As day was drawing to a close,
The embers were not stirred by memories
As they grew cold;
The people, for this once,
Could not recite their histories
As they grew old;
The road could not turn back.
But standing still
For those who only moved
Seemed helpless and unpromising,
So they moved on
Toward darkness.
The falling light caught one
Who played
With questions in her mind,
As if the road that lay ahead
Left what she had behind;
But there seemed little chance
Of hope or comfort in this light.
The shadows grew and disappeared to night.
When morning comes
It shines on who or what is in the fields
Without regret.