I was walking toward a great city upon a hill.
On the way were verdant leas, upon my right,
And a valley of ashes, and moors, upon my left.
I continued traveling with only my Rosary in my pocket.
I saw a wall up ahead.
The unhappy souls on my left continuously cursed the wall,
Claiming that it was a poisonous intrusion upon their rights.
They desperately want the bridge only.
The happy souls upon my right saw it as a gateway to health and well being.
They need the wall and the bridge both.
On the bridge, all the exits to the left were bright, lovely, and fragrant with flowers and incense,
Though those on the right were arduous, and strewn with bramble and jagged stones.
There was a plaque overhead: ‘Bitter becomes sweet, and sweet bitter.’