Disappointment comes to me
And I to it.
Eight clouds pass so fast
As I topple from my perch,
And tumble toward the earth.
Terra nova is where I sit.
Dusting down in desperation
My eyes ferret for some shelter.
A home that I can call my own.
What alley can I roam?
This new ground offers no path,
No wall to place my hands.
I stand up quick, and run around.
Then I sit and menace the ground,
Until a rope breaks my shroud
Taking it, I climb up to the cloud.
I stand and feel my pride.
Looking up, I see my goal,
I scramble and fight,
So satisfied, upon the next
Billowing carpet of haze.
Upon this point I know no bounds,
I strive and jostle and thrive until
I find myself aloft the ninth.
But this cloud is fearfully small,
I am always haunted by so large a fall.