How strange that old age has brought me here
To climb unaided a rockface
Cold and clammy to my feeble touch.
Fingers feel for crevices
Which, momentarily, will support a frame
wracked with the vicissitudes of wasteful living.
Pause, think; time to examine more closely
That clump of moss to which no rolling stone has become attached.
Now to decide.
To the left, descend a step or two or three
Then climb an incline to clutch a cornered overhang
Beyond which is a void of wild, exciting dreams
To the right, an upward swing
Like a chimpanzee may give me sight
Of something still waiting to be achieved
Both can cause a fall not to eternity
But to a new beginning
And the desire to put to right those things
Which were always wrong.
No, ’tis not worth the anguish or the blame
Just slice the rope and then regain
My state of graceful pain
