The walkway
The walkway through the high pines
wire meshed on either side
damp with fine constant rain
swings its way across a raging
gorge below.
Will you follow me over
sure footed in familiar
walking boots and blue kagoule
catching me when I stumble,
slip or fall.
Or shall I walk behind you,
as you step in steady time
blind to anything but you;
one hand clutching a close fold
like a child.
Always afraid of heights
but a lover of high places
I have climbed many mountains
with you my enduring scaffold
uplifting the way.
poem by Diana Rosser
Added by Poetry Lover
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