Page 361
By Jack Joseph Smith
The Old Road
He did not take anything
He brought wine
Well, he did not pay for herb
Some have a post office box
Well, it you don't ya' don't
Stop in your tracks
A railroad train
can not be understood any more
A walk away down the road
No one knows how to get lost
alone anymore
Visual was difficult for him,
for all the canyons shown gold
For him his fingers were
the snatching away of life