the red bus

The highway stretched out – a ribbon of dust,

And a lone red bus stood , broken down,

On the verge by the road, with white stones all around;

The driver peering under its hood with a frown.

A treble voice piped up from the rear of our van,

“Mummy, why are there white stones around the bus?”

“To let people know that its being repaired.”

“”But can’t they see that huge thing, like us?”

“Must someone tell them its broken down

By putting stones across the road?”

“Sit quietly and read your book,”

Said Mummy, tired-out  and bored.

It struck me then how often we are blind

To the massive truths before us–

And listen , intent, to the next man opine:

When we can see for ourselves the huge red bus!




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