New Highways

NEW HIGHWAYS New highways are haunted by ghostly sites Where once homes awaited and children played Bare, sunken spots, overshadowed by trees... Tenacious trees bearing the marks of man Some twist grotesquely, for long years ago The twigs were bent as vagrant seedlings Sprouting too near alien structures of man Eternally the jonquils spring golden In patterned clumps defined by hands now gone And scattered phlox diffuse their bright colours Among tall, lush weeds, in overgrown yards But the impersonal highways speed their endless Great rushing torrents of mindless traffic, Insensitive to trampled homes and hearts. Victoria Rose Steele