When I Cross The Bridge

 

It would be the cool of the day;

the traders would’ve been back from stalls,

farmers at their regular joint for the daily glass…

children would be ready for their tale time,

and I would have hung my favorite hat

on the bar at the door’s back.

Yes, The fiery red stained hat of furs

that draws flies in their wake.

 

Earlier that day, I would’ve kissed my lady—

a whisper of sweet nothing embodied with love,

combed through her grey hairs that cut in her face.

A promise to be what she gazed at upstairs.

 

With a free mind and a satisfied smile

will I put on…

on my way through,

for when I cross the bridge,

I love to see a brighter life ahead.

 

Read Also:  The Weak Gender