Friday, February 13, 2004

The Crissy Field Shuffle

At the base of a bridge there is a plaque
That I touch twice before heading back
And as I linger in the salty breeze
I see the city across the swelling seas.

I should make it home before it gets dark
But I rest a while before I embark
There is kid playing with shells all alone
An old man is propping up stones.

Too often the middle chapter disappoints
Not many awards given for mid points
As I return I quicken my stride
To stay with those that run by my side.