The Ladder

The ladder lay where the hawthorn grew midst long grass and nettles. all winter through until I pulled it from the tangled mess I began to think the world was flat When propped against the roof it stood to fix a tile or two I saw behind the chimney stack a panoramic view. High above the Hawthorn trees straddling the timbers and completely free I felt as the the Sparrows and Starlings do when they soar from the ground to a haven of blue. And as I watched the world from previously high reaching for the clouds drifting lazily by I wished I lived in the house below instead of a modest bungalow For no ladder do they need to see above the Hawthorn trees