The Meeting

The ox-team and the

Stood face to face on the long red road,

The long red road was

At the turn of the hill,

And below was the sun-dancing

Afoam over the rocks.

The mild-mannered beasts stood par, chewing their cud.

The stubble-bearded man from the mountains,

Rustier than his wagon,

Unmoving eyed the proud chauffeur.

The little ragged girl,

With sun-bleached hair,

Sitting on a ahrd, yellow-powdrey bag,

Looked across at the smart motor hats of the ladies,

And their chiffon

That the light breeze fingered.

The proud chauffeur blew his horn,

But nothing moved-Except the foaming, sun-dancing river down below.

Then he jerked his head,

And turned the wheel,

And slowly, carefully,

The automobile moved back over the long red road.

And the mild-mannered beasts lifted their feet,

And the stubble-bearded man flipped his rein,

Ad the ragged little girl looked ahead up the hill,

And the ox-team lumbered and limped over the long red road.