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Poetry Pleases: Night Frost On The Road

Caroline Glyn tells of a bleak, seemingly-endless road.

The road and pavement glisten hard and cold.
The stretch of moonlight, like a paper strip,
Lies, reaching in a dead infinity,
As desolate and endless as a dream.
One little figure on it bends to tip
Shovels of sand across the frosted road,
Toiling, comes on, completely unaware
Of the enchanted road's hostility,
The labouring shadow throws his useless sand.
And suddenly I feel, there is no end.
For him, the road will always still expand.
For him the road will stretch untarnished white,
For ever and for ever through the night.
At last he tugs his barrow round the bend,
Nearer, maybe, to his non-existent end.

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