C057

Like a ribbon gray on the face of the earth,
I stretch through the countryside,
From the village nestled among the hills,
To the city that cannot hide.
Over me rumble the heavy trucks,
Filled with goods from the busy mill.
And the pleasure cars go speeding through,
Obeying their drivers' will.
Sometimes I pass through the forest quiet,
Where the air is sweet and cool.
And again I cross on a bridge of stone,
The river no man can rule.
But whereever through sunshine or storm I go,
My burden I patiently bear,
For thus I have in the busy world,
The joy of doing my share.