Rubaiyat For the Climbing Poet

While I blew on my hands and held my tongue A startling star swung out of the sky, And though to gravity need not comply, Descended to ledge where envious clung. Of course we all would climb to the summit To leap from the acme, fly with the winds, But not all have wingspan: some just have fins. Some blaze aria, others but hum it. If toe-hold needs gained, deny temptation Its perilous urge to drag on the guide, But rather find core of stillness inside And trust to Sherpa, not own impatience.