i walk through the lane again <br />now all tarred, laterite <br />the gravel all gone <br />pieces of my life <br />all the days of the years <br />the stones too <br />they hit the soft spots <br />under the feet <br />aching the heart <br />the lengthy lane <br />now so short for the legs <br />once so short <br />childhood friends, neighbours <br />they flew back, stared, walked <br />laughed from all angles <br />back and fore of my eyes <br />the heart leapt to yesteryears <br /> <br />inspired by <br /> <br />A Late Walk <br />When I go up through the mowing field, <br />The headless aftermath, <br />Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew, <br />Half closes the garden path. <br />And when I come to the garden ground, <br />The whir of sober birds <br />Up from the tangle of withered weeds <br />Is sadder than any words <br />A tree beside the wall stands bare, <br />But a leaf that lingered brown, <br />Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought, <br />Comes softly rattling down. <br />I end not far from my going forth <br />By picking the faded blue <br />Of the last remaining aster flower <br />To carry again to you.<br /><br />john tiong chunghoo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-late-walk-2/
