Riddle

Halfway across the bridge he stood
And began to scratch his head
Wondering, whether in wisdom should,
He further at all tread.

If the rest of the bridge collapses
And gravity assumes charge
To guide him along will there be mapses?
The query in his mind loomed large.

Should he then, retrace his way
To where he began his journey?
But couldn’t that part of the bridge too sway?
Would surely ask his ‘ttorney.

He stared in vain up at the sky
He stared below in fear
He hadn’t a plane in which to fly
Nor a parachute one could steer.

Which way to go, he never found
He could not solve that riddle
Grew ancient thus he, holding his ground
A fiddler without his fiddle.














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