Most of us live our lives
As if each were a bridge—
If a gust of wind comes,
We know we’ll feel the sway.
Folks find a way, a path,
A route, a road to cross
Each bridge of who we are.
But winds blow, and we know
A bridge can fall. We trace
Thin, grooved tracks in our paths.
We stay close to the core
Of our span. But we sway.
