SOMETHING THERE IS THAT DOESN'T LOVE A LINE
The yellow line on Water Row
fills my morning ride with woe.
Where once the woods were dense and green
there now appears a highway scene,
complete with stripes like beams of light
that startle and perturb my sight.
Here once a country road ran through,
a guest of the wilderness it knew,
but something craved domination,
with trees reduced to decoration,
and suddenly – poof! – an abomination:
just one more strip for Asphalt Nation.
Where once a genial road ran through,
there’s now a line we have to rue,
winding past the leafy spires,
conjuring only gas and tires.
When roads are built, the woods should know,
that more than likely they’ll have to go.
It’s still far better than Concord Road,
but I miss the dreams Water Row once sowed.
On thinking about the new blacktop with
freshly-painted lines on a sectiom
of my favorite Sudbury road.