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The Bush Twist

Edward S. Sorenson

‘Tis strange, but surely shackled I must be,
   For though I strive to fix me, yet in vain;
Full twenty times I’ve passed one standing tree,
   And never once have known that tree again!

Gray grassy flats that sweep from granite hill
   And drowsy brooks I never viewed before,
All seem familiar to my mind until
   Unwittingly I come to them once more.

I hear my fainting heart go pit-a-pat,
   I’m dizzy with the never-ceasing strain
To separate the dim-lit places that
   Go swimming in a whirlpool thro’ my brain.

Tho’ I survey the landscape, view the sun,
   And carefully by these my bearings take,
‘Tis strange my course is ever over-run
   With duplicates of objects in my wake.

At last I shout with all my failing force,
   And soon an answering shout comes ringing back:
Anon a dusky damsel on a horse
   Puts me upon an old familiar track.

I follow it the way she tells me to,
   Convinced the other is the right way still,
And marvel much to see when safely thro’,
   The creek reversed, and running up the hill!

 

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