Excuse me, while I funambulate,

It gives me time to speculate; 

On what is up and down, and all about,

Of  what’s within, of what’s without.

To walk a rope, you place your feet,

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 2017

© Image inspired by Maricris Cabrera

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