I Suppose I Passed It A Hundred

They Say That Life Is A Highway And Its Milestones Are The Years,and Now And Then There's A Toll-gate Where You Buy Your Way With Tears.it's A Rough Road And A Steep Road And It Stretches Broad And Far,but At Last It Leads To A Golden Town Where Golden Houses Are.

I Suppose I Passed It A Hundred Times, But I Always Stop For A Minute. And Look At The House, The Tragic House, The House With Nobody In It.

Things Have A Terrible Permanence When People Die.

The Air Is Like A Butterfly With Frail Blue Wings. The Happy Earth Looks At The Sky And Sings.

I Think That I Shall Never See A Poem Lovely As A Tree. A Tree Whose Hungry Mouth Is Prest Against The Earth's Sweet Flowing Breast.