Art by Norman E. Masters
| The trap which foolish fancy builds is hidden down a winding road, a cul-de-sac. The jaws, unsprung, are held by threads the mind has spun. The road, runs down among fair hills, roams meadows sweet with rose, until it meets as sun sets down a dappled, darkening flow. The bridge is narrow, clanking planks might well have warned your heart, "retreat". The trap is sprung and you are caught away from all familiar things within the hollowness of dreams until time ends. |
