Asphalt
by Robert McKay
Does the road yield beneath the truck passing by?
Does great weight flex the pavement and compress the hidden soil underneath?
Do the slow earthworms see the sinking of their sky?
No thing made by man is permanent
Our works crumble and fall
As though our touch weakened stone
Does the road bend underneath the traffic?
Autumn Leaves
volume 8 number 6
This poem is copyright © 2004, Robert McKay, all rights reserved.
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