A ballad:
This is a tale I heard of a man who rode
Far and wide across the sunset field
His heart still trembled with a story yet unwritten
Full of tall windmills past the wild frontier.He rode past meadows green full of cottage boxes
And ruminants with dull and mournful eyes
Past shining new cities full of silent towers
And roads as straight as surveyors allow.And he said to his weary horse, one day all this will end,
The checker-box lanes and the closely cropped grasses
One day we will find the edge of the wild and be free.
So he turned his hopeful head at many dusky maidens
And stopped to drink at lonesome country bars
He pitched his little tent in model straight-edged forests
To listen to his wild and rambling dreams.But the storms and sunny days were all so well predicted
And every turning of the road ahead
Was laid down on the map with such cool precision
And all the vacant faces were well fed.And he said to his weary horse, one day all this will end,
The checker-box lanes and the closely cropped grasses
One day we will find the edge of the wild and be free.And when at last he met the stormy ocean
His broken heart still full of ancient dreams
He took his last sad steps towards the crimson sunset
And the black waves of the ocean wept with him.And he said to his weary horse, one day all this will end,
The checker-box lanes and the closely cropped grasses
One day we will find the edge of the wild and be free.
