Roads We Travel

There are many roads we travel
And probably most we leave behind
We continue to walk ahead of us
New fresh roads we want to find

And sometimes we wonder
If we took the best road we could
If we could erase them and start over
We often think perhaps we would

Some roads we travel often though
Off and on throughout the years
They get worn and sad and weary
And we shed so many tears

But we try to put them behind us
And trudge bravely on ahead
Trying very heard to not look back
But find great new roads instead

So no matter where we’ve been
As our lives we continue to unravel
We all just try to do our best
With the many roads we travel!

by Marilyn Lott

Comments (3)

Oh my! I googled this after forty years. I have loved this poem so long, having read it I think in the Telegraph in 1976. Never forgotten. I smelled the dust on nettles, never lost in the courtyard of Clubley's farm on Spurn Head back in the sixties collecting unpasteurised milk from the parlour at seven in the morning. The milk was still warm and so is this poem in my heart. It spoke so clearly to me then and still does. The imagery remains intact. Ace.
this has long been one of my favourite poems, it is a lightning flash of an image and the poet makes it so clear what he wants you to see, this inconsequential corner where he may sit and gaze, in safety, at the mundanity of the world that. for him, as for millions of others, was about to change forever with the advent of WW1. The power in these few lines can take on a mantra like quality and also offers an early example of less is more. Here the microcosm of the abandoned corner of the yard reflects the chaos to come and the impossibility it is to return to an innocent and simpler life.
Really e. thomas, with a few words, is expresing his life; he loves English landscape and he enjoyed how nature survive against artificial things or tools; in this way, tall nettles cover the rusty harrow; his life is a fight too, he looks a very nervous man fighting for the country he loves, so he write 'this corner of the farmyard I like most' to end with a few pleasure words' the sweetness of a shower; His poems are a mixture of love for Eglish landscape and the nature life; his words, with sweetness adorn his passions.