Running across a field

I called that field life,

And every step so lived life as I ran.

Green grasses my ankles, my crumbled the stubble.

Then a sure step on a hard road-rut,

Then cinders, and broken rubbish of a barren place.

A glance good footing still.

Bare ground, and I had leaped a ditch,

Not slipping. Now a steep bank,

And my feet found hold each time.

Breath coming harder now -

The first level reached, then sliding gravel.

Greater speed for the steeper slope.

Wind blew the hair across my eyes.

Up and up, steeper and faster -

Down on one hand - up - never slipping.

Nearly the top but more to climb.

Steep now - my legs complain, and where the top should be

Still lifts the bank.

A last push - pounding blood -

The top!

Wind and the wide sunlight overhead.

Space, and quiet.

And I bursting on it, insignificant, alone.

All the world, all years, behind, below,

And I stand empty-handed.