The water tumbled and fell br far below, br It sounded louder br than the countless rustling leaves br that skipped and danced before me. br br Invisible birds br Shrieked and sang their news br to their singing invisible friends. br I, I sat on a wooden bench br Several paces from the edge of the path br br The path curved silently away from me br Before me lay the DROP, br A tree-clad slope br Out of bounds to me. br 'Come to the edge', the poet** wrote br br But I will only quote him br But not obey his command. br 'Come to the edge'! a beckoning finger br On a beckoning hand.