His Gift
He left me this old wooden ladder...rickety...and patched...
and on it, twisting in the breeze, he left this note attached:
“When you were young you used this ladder to touch the sun
to kiss the clouds creating the snowflakes that fell to Earth in June
and do you remember how you use to smile
when you’d climb this ladder…to the moon?
When you soared with the birds high in the sky…
do you remember all the wonders you could see
as you rode a fire-breathing dragon…
or had a conversation with a tree...’
‘Your imagination is a gift,’ the note went on to say
Feed it, nurse it, nurture it,…‘cherish it everyday’.
I still use that rickety old ladder
And oh what wonders I still see
When I ride that fire-breathing dragon
or have my conversations with the trees...’
When I climb way up to touch the sun
when I kiss the clouds creating snowflakes that fall in June…
and I imagine he is up there smiling…
every time
I climb my ladder to the moon.
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