So many streets whose names I never heard
Before, although so near to where I've been,
As if a new development occurred
Between my setting out and coming in.
Yet every place was there before, I know,
And when I left the place was peopled too;
The time cannot have been that long ago,
Nor is there anything I can call new.
No, it is old, and I am wrong to say
It has not been here. I should know it better.
Nothing here has sprung up in a day;
It is forgetfulness is the begetter
Of this strange thought. It must have been here. Yet
Something in me still doubts I would forget.
No comments:
Post a Comment