 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
The Bridge Builder
|
| by Will Allen Dromgoole |
| |
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the
evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep,
and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
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 strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never
again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm,
deep and wide-
Why build you a bridge at the 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.
This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too,
must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am
building the bridge for him." |
|
| |
| Email
This Poem to a Friend |
|
Bookmark This Page |
| |
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
The copyrights of all poems on this website belong to the individual authors.
Website Copyright 2000 - 2010 Ellen Bailey Poems |
| |