The road that rambles past our house
Cuts through the fields and thickets,
And never stops for cat or mouse,
Nor hears the singing crickets.
It goes right on through snow or rain;
It races in the noon light,
And flows across the silver plain,
A ribbon in the moonlight.
Exactly how it started out
I have no way of knowing;
But when I’m twenty-one, about,
I’ll find out where it’s going!
by Ray Romine Monday, February 25, 1952
