Atop a wooden platform, firmly held
Secure by climber’s rope and metal clips,
Fifth graders stand with trembling hands and lips
And look across a course of ropes upheld
By poles that pass some trees in height. Hearts swelled
With expectation normally eclipse
All fears as one begins. But then she slips.
And now so high, sheer terror can’t be quelled,
Yet all the while hangs her sturdy rope
Securing her to wire firmly pinned
To posts of wood that offer grown men hope
Of making it to course’s joyful end.
So, my dear child, for lighter things don’t grope,
But cleave to your rope’s strength; on it depend.
Hold Fast the Rope
