If a fellow were to stumble
Hiking on a mountain height,
Or reach to catch a butterfly,
As a fellow might,
And the ground slips out beneath him
As he tumbles toward the brink
And he bounces like boulder
Without much time to think
Just grabbing at the tree roots,
Scaring marmots with his cry,
Before leaving earth for certain
To seek his fortune in the sky,
Then soaring through the firmament,
Wind whistling in his ears,
With the world displayed below him
(If he could calm his fears
For just the next few moments)
Might he not just think he’s flying
With the heavens all around him
And have no thought of dying.
Isn’t falling just like flying?
The faller’s like a duck,
But without the downy feathers
(And without a lot of luck).
I think falling would be splendid,
The finest thing around,
If the falling never ended,
And it wasn’t for the ground.
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