The Empty Boxes Poem by Terry Donovan

Turn left at the lighthouse
And follow the coast inland
Past deserted villages
That used to be so grand.

Past the little ramshack café
Where the Vikings stopped for tea
Past the fallen arches
And the sheriff's favourite tree.

Down into the valley
On the road of no return
And there's nothing on the signposts
Where the wicker houses burn.

By the fried and dried-up river
Where the cows no longer stray
And if you see a mushroom farm
Where children used to play

You're nearly there already
Though you're never really far
From where the clock says ten past two
And the empty boxes are.