Little Bridge Boy

by b.c.

                 In the city of New York where the rivers are like soy
                    There lived the one they called the Little Bridge Boy
                    Now Bridge Boy was brash and he wore a red sash
                    But he was a smart little boy cuz he carried no cash

                    He hung from the ledges of the fair Brooklyn Bridge
                    And liked to go hopscotching from ridge to ridge
                    From off of this span he would throw little planes
                    While the wind whipped through his blond curly mane

                    The planes would sail gently in a graceful arc
                    And fly as sweetly as the wren or the lark
                    "Fly on little plane! I wish I was you!"
                    Bridge Boy would think as he whispered "Adieu"

                    But as his yearning increased and his admiration grew
                    Little Bridge Boy decided maybe he could fly too
                    So he climbed to the top of the uppermost wire
                    Gave the bridge a caress and fulfilled his desire

                    The little boy soared (to the delight of the bridge)
                    But the angels in Heaven said, "This is sacrilege!
                    Only souls in God's presence have a license to fly
                    So confess your transgressions and prepare thee to die!"

                    Little Bridge Boy flew on with just one thought in mind
                    To live for the moment and at peace with mankind
                    God in his jealousy snared him, this childlike meteorite
                    But Bridge Boy's last conscious thoughts were of his brief and
                    handsome flight

                    Little Bridge Boy, you were far too sweet and much too young to die
                    And sometimes at night I walk the bridge and hang my head and cry.