The Legs
By Robert Graves
There was this road,
And it led up-hill,
And it led down-hill,
And round and in and out.
And the traffic was legs,
Legs from the knees down,
Coming and going,
Never pausing.
And the gutters gurgled
With the rain’s overflow,
And the sticks on the pavement
Blindly tapped and tapped.
What drew the legs along
Was the never-stopping,
And the senseless, frightening
Fate of being legs.
Legs for the road,
The road for legs,
Resolutely nowhere
In both directions.
My legs at least
Were not in that rout:
On grass by the roadside
Entire I stood,
Watching the unstoppable
Legs go by
With never a stumble
Between step and step.
Though my smile was broad
The legs could not see,
Though my laugh was loud
The legs could not hear.
My head dizzied, then:
I wondered suddenly,
Might I too be a walker
From the knees down?
Gently I touched my shins.
The doubt unchained them:
They had run in twenty puddles
Before I regained them.
