Alone on the railroad track I walked with pounding heart.
The ties were too close together or maybe too far apart.
The scenery was impoverished: scrub-pine and oak; beyondits mingled gray-green foliage I saw the little pondwhere the dirty old hermit lives, lie like an old tearholding onto its injuries lucidly year after year.
The hermit shot off his shot-gun and the tree by his cabin shook.
Over the pond went a ripple The pet hen went chook-chook."Love should be put into action!" screamed the old hermit.
Across the pond an echo tried and tried to confirm it.
