THE ARID PLACE
óBy Frances Wierman
Sometimes I step from greenwood paths
Into a desert place
Where the parched earth cries thirstily
To unresponsive space.
There falls a sudden lull in song of birds;
A wave of heat that blinds my eyes
And dulls my ears
To all but its own beat.
My feet grow weary
And my heart is dry as a dead tree;
The dust of many arid years
Sweeps up and stifles me.
But after I have trod it all in courage;
And again reached
The green coolness of a wood
Blessed with fresh dew and rainó
I look back on that desert place,
Softened by memory's haze,
And know that all this loveliness I reached
Through those dry ways!
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