I tried to cross that bridge today To reach the beckoning bank Why I did it I cannot say Perhaps I have you to thank Or maybe myself to blame or curse For I fear on the other side No matter what I feel inside My life would well be worse. What farms are those I'd leave behind Those blue remembered hills? The wanderings of a restless mind Are the cause of many ills And the weakness of a selfish man Who surrenders to a life apart For a dream of no more substance than The fickle beating of his heart Is nary proof he still has the nerve Or that he has rediscovered youth But might instead a lesson serve And bring home a bitter truth And demonstrate to him again How true that age-old rule: There is naught more pathetic than the wisdome of a fool.