Little Further

A humorous poem by Berton Braley about going a little further. Some people are content to stay exactly where they are and how they are in life, but others like Braley want to keep going until all roads are exhausted. While the poem is funny it is also encouraging to keep on going, life has much to offer if we just keep going a little further.

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Little Further
Poet: Berton Braley

The reason I never can quit the road
Is a reason that's plain and clear.
It's because no matter where I may stop
And whether it's far or near

There's a place beyond the place I am,
Wherever I may be at,
And then beyond is a place beyond
And the world beyond all that!

And as long as a man has eyes to see
And a brain that wants to know,
I figure there's things he's bound to miss
If he doesn't go on and go;

For there's always a place beyond the place
I happen to hang my hat,
And another place beyond that place
And the world beyond all that!

There's some folks stay in a single spot
Or a town of which they're fond,
And never worry a little bit
At the thought of a place beyond;

But the place beyond the place beyond
Won't never let me rest
For there's a sort of a kind of urge
That's burning within my breast-

To go and go till the end of life,
And when I've left it flat,
Go on beyond the place beyond;
And the universe after that!

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Another humorous poem by Berton Braley that you may enjoy:

Poet: Berton Braley

Conceptions of affluence vary a lot;
To one man it's victuals and drink;
Another man dreams of a sea-going yacht,
With a music room finished in pink;
To women it often means gems by the peck,
But affluence spells — to my brain —
A car where you sit on the back of your neck
And drive with an air of disdain.

You've seen just the type of an auto I mean;
It's long and it's throbbing with might;
It's built very much like a sleek submarine,
But it runs like an aero in flight;
In brief it's the kind that can certainly "trek"
When it roars like a limited train,
The car where you sit on the back of your neck
And drive with an air of disdain.

I might be so broke that I'd skimp on my meals
And pawn all my shirt studs for "gas,"
But if I could own such a monarch on wheels
I'd think of myself as "the class."
Of debts and of poverty little I'd reck,
For an affluent poise I'd maintain
In a car where you sit on the back of your neck
And drive with an air of disdain!

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