In the middle of our street
A pit within our midst
The riddle we must meet
Gaping like a wound
Festering and dark
A hazard to our safety and
One less place to park
Some say it is a pot hole
And easy to repair
But what if it's a knothole
A pit of pure despair?
Some say it is a gateway
A tunnel straight to hell
Some argue for its innocence
And sincerely wish it well
As for me, I do abstain
From judging empty space
I'll hold my tongue and keep the peace
And try to show some grace
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