Many, many roads there are, warm and dusty brown, Some go running to the hills, some turn into town; Some lead far and far away,—where nobody knows; How I ’d like to follow them, finding where each goes!
Once I found a pretty road, leading up a hill, It ran beside a daisy field, and on it wandered still; And down it went across a bridge, all tumbled and forlorn, Then straight behind a farmer's barn, where ducks were eating corn!
Many, many roads there are, warm and dusty brown, Some go running to the hills, some turn into town; Each and every one of them, I choose it as my friend, For sure surprise is waiting me, if I could find the end! Miriam Clark Potter.
