Across

I’ve heard it said that no man is an island-
But every man is an island unto himself!
And I’ve heard it said that we all build walls
But mostly the walls are already built.

Stone upon stone and brick upon brick,
We’ve worked hard on our towers to heaven:
The paint-eyed Egyptian, and the high-mountain Inca
And the medieval mason at work.

I’ve heard it said that emotions are bottled
And put up on the shelf for later,
But I’ve never heard that tears are less bitter
When saved for a year in the cellar

Hope upon hope and dream upon dream
We’ve worked hard on our towers to heaven;
But the ones who have made it,
Who try and don’t trade it-

So I heard it whispered that there’s heaven on earth
Where curlicue phone lines extend
And I’ve heard it’s known that there’s something of sacred
When fingertips finally meet-

So the ones who have made it,
Who try and don’t trade it,
Are the ones who build bridges, not towers.

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