I'm striding down the avenue,
And rapidly at that,
When my progress runs me up against
An intersection at

The crux of which, depending from
A stanchion overhead,
An all-commanding traffic light
Presents two disks of red:

One to the way that crosses, one
To the way that favors me;
A situation sure to change

Very little time. But time
Enough for one of those
Windows of an instant with
The power to disclose

Something at my core of cores
(Hence normally unseen)
In my assuming mine's the way
That's not to get the green.