Excuse me, while I funambulate,

It gives me time to speculate,

Of what is up and down, and all about,

Of what’s within, of what’s without

To walk a rope, you place your fe

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 2017m

© Image inspired by Maricris CabreraO

https://plus.google.com/photos/photo/106238278503294098502/6428050601476872946?iem=4&gpawv=1&hl=en-GB

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