Bridges

A poet once said, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall",
But Harman did not like bridges. He did not like them at all.
His motto was, "Stay on your side. With interlopers I can't abide,
I will make my own provision, and live with my own division",
There was some dispute, by a man who did repute,
Harman to once be a gambler, a lucky and carefree ambler,
But he never had much love for those,
Who did not bring money to the table, because Harman was always able,
To read what another man held in his hand. With great luck he could command,
Seeming games of chance, and make the showgirls dance,
To the tune of money so true.
No one knew what happened to this man so lucky,
But he lost his spark, and he was not so plucky,
Whatever it was, he did change, and he spent the last
Of his money on an island and a rifle
Any blame or interference he intended to stifle.
So when they came to build a sturdy bridge,
To his island
Harman crouched with his rifle on a ridge,
Shooting at those righteous men, who only wanted,
To be his friend.
"Get out of here! I will not be taunted," he shouted.
So they had to let him be, and at last he was free,
Of this world, and could live, and die, without company.