Part 3 — ALONG THE TRACK

THE track has led me out beyond the town To follow day across the waning fields, The crisping weeds and wastes of tender brown. On either side the feathered tops are high, A tracery of broken arabesques Upon the sullen crimson of the sky. Into the west the narrowing rails are sped. They cut the crayon softness of the dusk With thin converging gleams of bloody red.