A bridge created with dried leaves
and an ancient tree,
shaped from a life
of woe is me.
This tree, he wanted something more
convinced his life
was a treacherous bore.
A constant covet of
the other side of the moat,
fearful he'd reach it
in the mutilated form
of a boat.
It was time,
he knew,
when he felt a stormy breeze,
for this was the opportunity
he had to seize.
The gust grew stronger
and with a lightning struck heave
he became the natural bridge
between want and achieve.