The Stairway
The stairway always beckoned me,
Spilling out, as it did, like the offering,
Tumbling from the horn of plenty,
Gently laying out its proffering.
The wide base, and carved curlicues,
Evidence from months of effort such,
That craftsmen who must love their work,
Thus kissed it with their gentle touch.
Adventure waited! I could see,
Rising steady to unsteady tread,
Forbidden things, or, that must wait,
Until I could be trusted, Mother said.
To stand unshakily upon my feet,
To have the sense to hold the rail,
And with the blessing of my mother's gaze,
Begin my newest mountain to assail!
Then would the stairway narrow some,
No need to be the funnel that I saw.
Constraining thus my journey to a place,
To turn around and realize with awe,
That stairways will give rise to those who need it,
And safely bring us down to earth again,
The give and take of come and go,
Is based upon the flights of mortal men.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . March 16, 2012
Now, you ARE a poet! :) That’s lovely!