The state has numbers for the highways in
And out of town; even ones for east and west,
The other kind for north and south, to remind
Both regions they're still at odds, if passively.
But people here won't give a number
The first time you ask your way. From their hill
They call the roads by where they go, as long
As where they go is larger in comparison.
There is no Winnsboro Road, though anyone
Can tell you it's halfway down the one
They call Columbia. From Winnsboro here
One must assume it's called the Chester Road.
So it is, the little mark the way to big
And the large know where the small stay
Without admitting a way or need to go there.
Good poem. Demonstrates a universal truth about humanity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very good; you have surely touched upon a vein of human understanding, the whole view of near and far, here and there, even us and them. Great job!