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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
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