The Spectre

I cannot confess I am looking To climb the sun greased pole Nor do I relish the slippery convex of the world Where I must watch my going up For the sudden coming down. Who is it that remain in our light like a shadow The most certain of uncertain tomorrow? The bottom convex Was no different from the concave space That dirt and flowers make the same again And what if I struggle and strain Out of the pile towards the sun greased pole Not the crab scuttling the mind I fear Like the grease upon the pole If come I down so does all But scarier yet is that the pole must fall And yet we never say "Climb not all." Convex or concave The true enemy is Charon rowing, rowing How does vanity has nothing to do with him?