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.
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