“The nightly crossing over the bridge, will you to a bell tower lead, the road ahead well lit, so you won’t trip!“ Gun Roswell

The bridge and the tower at nightfall

The bridge over the murky waters, the sun long since set, the last remnants of the rays glowing red, hanging low over the nightly skies

The trouble here lies as over the bridge the need to trot, to get to the other side, where the place one calls home, resides

And so, with a heavy heart and a sigh, the task at hand starts, as there is no try, only the effort, of getting home, safe and sound

The noises of the nightly life loud, but luckily, the lights are on, even if far in between them all, they still give a hint, where to trot, and never step across, and end up in the deadly cold waters

Running never an option, the slip and slide easily stopping, the trip halting, coming to a dead end, literally, and so, choosing each step carefully, when headed toward the goal

Soon enough, the bridge has been crossed, the bell tower in sight, and what a pretty one it is in all its might, the home of the nightly wanderer dead ahead