Grow Poem by Michael Ardizzone

I see the clouds before me
and the storm that lies ahead
and I think to my lonesome self
I'd much rather be dead.

I feel the foam at my feet
and the wind in my face;
the harder I have tried to win
the more bitter it made the taste.

I glance over at the bridge
and only i can tell
there was a lost man on it;
he wavered, then fell.

I stare into the future
and the only thing i know
is that what's to lose has been lost:
the only way left is to grow.