Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Tightrope Artist

I watched her walk the wire way up high,
As calmly as could be, her step so spry,
As if she had been born to grace the sky.

I watched in worried wonder.
I knew that any blunder
Could put her six feet under.

I met her on the ground and got to know
Her mortal self, who bore an inner woe,
That vanished just in time for every show.

And both, of course, were real:
Taut nerves made out of steel,
Soft heart that made her feel.

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