The Wood Road

If I were to walk this way
Hand in hand with Grief,
I should mark that maple-spray
Coming into leaf.
I should note how the old burrs
Rot upon the ground.
Yes, though Grief should know me hers
While the world goes round,
It could not if truth be said
This was lost on me:
A rock-maple showing red,
Burrs beneath a tree.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Comments (1)

Fascinating how something can mean one thing to a person and something else to someone else. Or nothing at all to someone else. Interesring write.