I went back and stood on that first bridge I built.
It was crude, and I chuckled to see it still stood.
It was firm underfoot, stones from all the cliffs I had seen
embedded in that bridge.
In the middle of that bridge I smiled to remember
that first person to give me a stone of my own
a builder far beyond my own capability
who lent me an ear
and a small push.
It was the start and though it came to an end the impression
remained, and it has followed me on.
Thank you, weaver of words.
I have stood on many bridges since then
some mine. Most often bridges built of smiles and laughter,
dares to jump into the air with sparkling waters down below.
I smile to see the beginning and the now
a new place, a new time.
Friends gone by and those still lingering on
standing next to me as I build one more bridge.
Not my last one, nay that one is yet to come.
long nights and days of advice, support,
in my bursts of frantic creation
that start and pause, led on by an endless impression
remaining, that opened a world where nothing ends.
All will remain, after all is gone.
Thank you weavers of words.
One day I will stand on that last creation
may it be the day I breathe my last
one a future day long from where I stand now.
I smile, seeing myself standing on that future bridge
smiling at the sparkling water below and the beauty
still lingering on.
for it is not without conviction that I say
it will be much like that first bridge
still standing firm.
For there, there was an eternal gift for me
and one day, for those that have given to me
I will leave my legacy,
one more bridge with stones from all the cliffs that I have seen.
My one prayer, the inscription on that one bridge
will read to all those
who have been and are and will be.
“Thank You, Weavers of Words.”
There are too many to thank. Thank You.