Bridge

Forgive me, O barren land,
But barren you shall yet remain.
For I am old and cannot sow,
Nor reap from you this season's grain.

The village lads are young and strong,
But will not help me in my need.
Their land is barren, too, but they,
Have not enough to buy the seed.

I would hire them but I,
Know not if they would care to keep,
A bargain with a helpless man,
Know not if they would share the reap.

In my dreams I see a place,
Where pearly rice and maize abound,
And fields of golden, juicy wheat,
Swaying in the wind are found.

But far away this heaven is,
Far across a valley wide,
And nought with which to build a bridge,
No way to cross the great divide.

Beside the pit a holy stone,
Has stood for long as I recall,
Pitted, cracked, but standing tall,
It rears above the deadly fall.

Dug into the weathered stone,
An ancient hand is legible,
'Bridge', it says, and beneath,
It tells a tale incredible.

'Listen, thee', the writing goes,
'For we have found a way.
As years ago we passed across,
So you shall do today.'

'Come all ye weary, troubled men,
Who live in these lands.
Come line up here and close your eyes,
And tightly clasp your hands.'

'You must step across as one,
All of you together,
For if even one dissents,
Then all fall to the nether.'

'But if in trust and in good faith,
As one, together you shall tread,
A bridge will form under your feet,
And you shall walk across instead.'

So every night, in my dream,
A hundred men here come,
But teeter so and do not cross,
And to distrust succumb.

Perhaps no different is my tale,
Perhaps I must now learn,
To trust in trust and step ahead,
And this heaven, earn.

Too many walls, I have built,
Too many bricks have spent,
For bricks that do not bridges build,
Indeed to walls are lent.

Come, now let us build that bridge,
Now, let us swallow pride,
Bury feuds, enmities,
Set distrust aside.

Not far away, this heaven is,
Not as far as once it seemed,
Not far away this paradise,
This land of which I dreamed.