It sprawls a drunken path across the wood,
Its rails well-blackened from the span of years
Required to prove a fence is really good.
Till now, in near-senility, it hears
Once more the warbling vireo’s wild note.
The reaching grasses brush the second rail;
A thrasher stops to preen his red-brovm coat;
A lizard shows a disappearing tail.
I envy my forbears who must have sat
Protected, eating lunch where beetles hum.
Rail fences must have been ideal, at that,
To lean against and watch the summer from!
by Ray Romine Friday, June 18, 1954
