Excuse me, while I funambulate,
It gives me time to speculate;
On what is up and down, and all about,
Of what’s within, of what’s without.
To walk a rope, you place your feet,
In a certain way, that’s quite discrete,
A toe on a line, that’s slack, or taut,
And step into a world that’s fraught,
And filled with a sense of imminent danger,
In which certainly is a certain stranger.
To tightrope-walk, you must be brave,
Or else you’ll meet an early grave.
© Caro Ness 2017
© Image inspired by Maricris Cabrera
