Romantic Poems

The world is massive, lengthy, sure
but always stretching home.
Beyond the hill, the valley's next
the hilltops further on.

And still it stretches, flexes, yawns
away beyond the steeple stacks
and distant shabby barns.
High it is and wide by lengths
not yet stretched.

Thick as dark, and dense.
The world has many fences
though not for roads.
They come and go as easily as ease.

Dissents a natural thing
for roads tracking trails or rabbit holes.
No road has known a hill
it could not climb without
a chart, a map, a border marking.
However far the road goes off
come dinner milking time or evensong
it always knows the way back home.

The best and worst
that we can say of roads
is that they are dependable.

(Renjana-Enola)