I see a rock wall in the woods,
I wonder where it goes…
To some forgotten forest glade
that only whitetails know?
To some abandoned farm graveyard
where small stones stand in rows?
To some shattered, ancient tree trunk
knocked down by the wind's blow?
To a New England stone-choked stream,
gurgling out its flow?
Through what was once broad pasture land
farmers no long mow?
Through newfound forest on the rise,
so quickly the trees grow…
Or to a swampy, mossy bog
where water settles low.
Some say I should walk that rock wall,
I've heard them tell me so,
but mystery brings spice to life,
I won't see where it goes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem