The poem is built as a short list, and the list does the quiet work. Each item is thin in a different way. A worn shoelace is close to snapping. A noon appointment sounds like a narrow slice of the day. A poor-house robe suggests cloth rubbed nearly through, and perhaps a life that has been too. A reed bends easily in the wind. These are ordinary, slightly shabby things, and none of them are grand.
Then the final item shifts the tone: "the road I still / hanker after." Here the speaker admits a personal want. The road may be thin because it is narrow, or because the chance of taking it is fading. The word "still" matters, because it hints that the desire has lasted a long time without being satisfied. The mood is wistful and restrained. Nothing is lamented loudly. The speaker simply lines up small, fragile things and lets the last one carry the ache of wanting to leave, wander, or begin again.