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.
Diana Rosser
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-walkway-2/
