I sit behind the wheel and watch the flow
Of cottages and trees, hedges and grass;
Nocturnal dogs and cats with eyes a-gleam;
Late homing humans, some with footsteps slow,
Others awheel with flickering lights – they pass
Before my windscreen in a fitful stream.
I gaze as in a theatre, with the glow
Of headlights probing all, out through my glass
At some strange drama acted in a dream
Of which I am part, as on I go.
The road slips under me, an endless band,
Unfolding vistas new at every turn.
So do the minutes slip, the years; I learn
The parable of time, and understand.
Weekly Times 12.8.60