Those Bridges, Those Bones
When you have eliminated the impossible
whatever remains, however improbable
must be the truth...
Not so fast, Sherlock
eliminating impossible
if it takes too long
to deduce improbable
Trust an old girl
galloping on a horse
that the old hills where
she rests are real
Impossible now
without a horse to get
there if truth needs
to swim a swollen river
Not there last week
the truth rising as
improbably as
what besets the mind
That always looks
for what remains
improbable as that seems
crossing to impossible.
© 2014 Rob Schackne
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