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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498915" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Road</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498915" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I, too, would ease my old car to a stop<br>on the side of some country road<br>and count the stars or admire a sunset<br>or sit quietly through an afternoon....</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498915" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I'd open the door and go walking<br>like James Wright across a meadow,<br>where I might touch a pony's ear and<br>break into blossom; or, like Hayden</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498915" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Carruth, sustained by the sight<br>of cows grazing in pastures at night,<br>I'd stand speechless in the great darkness;<br>I'd even search on some well-traveled road</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=498915" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">like Phil Levine in this week's New Yorker,<br>the poet driving his car to an orchard<br>outside the city where, for five dollars,<br>he fills a basket with goddamned apples.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Richard+Jones">Richard Jones</a></strong></div>

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