Dorothy Parker

Paths

I shall tread, another year,
 Ways I walked with Grief,
Past the dry, ungarnered ear
 And the brittle leaf.
 
I shall stand, a year apart,
 Wondering, and shy,
Thinking, “Here she broke her heart;
Here she pled to die.”
 
I shall hear the pheasants call,
 And the raucous geese;
Down these ways, another Fall,
 I shall walk with Peace.
 
But the pretty path I trod
 Hand-in—hand with Love—
Underfoot, the nascent sod,
 Brave young boughs above,
 
And the stripes of ribbon grass
 By the curling way–
I shall never dare to pass
 To my dying day.
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