We live our lives on the edge
the edge of a coin poised for flipping.
Will today be a good day
or a bad day?
Should I go this way
or that way?
We live on the edge
and is this our choice?
Are we at the mercy of a head or tail?
OR
Do we hold the choice in our hand.
Is it heads or tails or
is it that we choose the beds we lie in.
Life is infinitely rolling
on the edge of that silver piece.
and is it we who tip the scale.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem