The Afternoon's Journey

Poemata XXIII

The road goes on forever; and so it is
 That any traveler could find his bliss
Just in an afternoon; as every Spring
 Were gathered under clouds so light on wing
In sky azure as sea; this road is gray
 So worn it is with names I'll never say
And faces known no more; but still can buy
 My peace for dollars in my hand, to fly
Much faster than my feet; And whom I meet
 Is thus forgotten with each passing street
But time I do not flee; for it alone
 Must shadow me as tinted glass, its tone
Is calm though evening looms; we do not hurry
 For here all things come soon, we cannot worry.