I walk up the 400-year-old road,
Which climbs, narrowly, through the green
Overgrown slope, rising above the quiet homes,
Still asleep, on a humid summer morning...
I imagine what it must have been,
The road, in the days before cars,
Where business, routine or urgent,
Was conducted on foot...
And boy, how they must have sweated,
On a morning like this,
Walking, with purpose, through the crow calls,
And walls of bamboo, to reach their
Goals and destinations and assignations...
I think they would have remembered
This small stretch of road, only
As something best completed, not repeated.
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