The bridge

The Bridge

An old man going a long, high way,

Came, at the evening cold and gray,

To a chasm vast and wide and steep,

With water rolling cold and deep.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim,

The sullen stream had no fears for him,

But he turned, when safe on the other side,

And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,

“You are wasting your strength with building here,

Your journey will end with the ending day,

You never again will pass this way,

You’ve crossed the chasm deep and wide,

Why build you this bridge at eventide?”

The builder lifted his old gray head,

“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,

“There followeth after me today,

A youth whose feet must pass this way.

The chasm that was as naught to me,

To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be,

He, too, must cross in twilight dim,

Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”

By:Will Allen Dromgoole

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