Blind Alley
a poem by: Eleanor Farjeon
There’s a turning I must pass
Often four times in a day,
Narrow, rather dark, with grass
Growing, a neglected way;
Two long walls, a tumbled shed,
Bushes shadowing each wall –
When I’ve wondered where it led
People say Nowhere at all.
But if that is true, oh why
Should this turning be at all?
Some time, in the daylight, I
Will creep up along the wall;
For it somehow makes you think,
It has such a secret air,
It might lead you to the brink
Of – oh well, of anywhere!
Some time I will go. And see,
Here’s the turning just in sight,
Full of shadows beckoning me!
Some time, yes. But not to-night.
Spilled Words is what we offer one and all.
A website offering fresh, original and exclusive material by writers who espouse the philosophy that “Words Matter” and believe that imagination is the seed of accomplishment.
We are passionate about the world we inhabit; Aware there are two sides to every story. Persistent in our pursuit of all points of view.
A place to think, to laugh, to shed a tear. Where words are gifts that feed the soul; ignite a flame within the heart; excite the recesses of the brain; spark passions and concerns; inspire the conscious and subconscious.
Join Spillwords for this and more…
A website offering fresh, original and exclusive material by writers who espouse the philosophy that “Words Matter” and believe that imagination is the seed of accomplishment.
We are passionate about the world we inhabit; Aware there are two sides to every story. Persistent in our pursuit of all points of view.
A place to think, to laugh, to shed a tear. Where words are gifts that feed the soul; ignite a flame within the heart; excite the recesses of the brain; spark passions and concerns; inspire the conscious and subconscious.
Join Spillwords for this and more…
Latest posts by Spillwords (see all)
- Departmental - April 13, 2025
- April Song - April 6, 2025
- Love in a Mist - March 30, 2025
