A Bridge To Home
B
Barry Middleton
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To swim the river was to risk death;
but I have returned to the river;
and now I see there is a bridge.
Before, it was hidden around a bend;
it was obscured by fog and mist;
it was mysterious like the farther bank.
Men die but once; so why am I afraid?
Across the bridge must wait eternity,
where once I lived in perfect harmony.
But death, I believe, is not like life.
Is a pristine river still flowing there?
Is there a hidden lost bridge to home?
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