ON THE TRACK
He sat down in the shade to eat some bread,
and swatted at the fly that buzzed his head.
The heat waves shimmered on the flat grey track;
no wish or prayer could bring the lost years back.
He's tramped this road alone, for many years.
Now old and grey and touched with doubt and fears
of where his weary spirit soon will fly,
he eats the bread of loneliness and sorrow,
his only wish; a brighter day to-morrow.
