Getting On

I had not thought much,

Of the precipice below,

Well, not seriously so,

Just a lightish touch,

A wink and a nod

To bleak nothingness -

Unknowing unbeing

In prose and verse.

It was a mist of

Not sensing or seeing

Where others had trod,

As if turning each sod

Was uniquely just me.

But I am no Adam,

Who at boundaries lip

Was the first to clock it,

Whose ancient slip

Led to this very bluff,

As if free-falling,

Were not enough.