Near the drop of a cliff, my heart fails,
my body refuses to move, I freeze:
‘Why did I follow these narrow trails?’
Caught between the land, sea and breeze.
He gently hauls me up, tells me to focus,
step by step, holds tight on to my hand,
“You can do it, it’s not all hocus-pocus.”
I sense his worry, it’s not as he planned.
Constantly staring down at my shoes,
wearing blinkers; a tunnel vision in force.
My wit backing me along the path I choose,
amid the scent of coconut, vanilla gorse.
“I’d put you in my rucksack, carry you,”
We laugh about my palsy, passing through.
Month of May kuli Kohli