Road Poem by Neil Young

Slowly stretching my unexplored arm
On the land, I feel nature reclaim
It. I weave across all I have known,
Whose past settles in bright afternoon.

On my warm gravelled path, crunched and tired,
You have come, now adrift as you tread,
Only guessing. Walk on or turn left,
You refuse to admit you are lost.

How your memory quarrels, convinced
It was here, or quite near. How advanced
Are your doubts? It was Elmley you sought,
All your dry words dispelled, now your sight

Is confused, while your tongue burns with thirst.
I have led you astray like a thought.
So turn back, look for signs. Are there none?
My recusance, tight-lipped, ambles on.