Climb

In a far-away land, far out of my reach
Lies a beautiful island, with a wide sandy beach.
And hiding the splendor of the world there within
Are high rampart cliffs with brier on the rim.

It is there, in that world where most dare not go,
That a dear friend resides, with riches aglow.
For the high rocks, to him, are nothing at all.
He lives for the climb while I fear the fall.

His scarred limbs bear witness; he well knows the fall,
But he’d rather die climbing than not live at all!
I envy my dear friend. . . . For his riches? Oh no!
But for the courage to climb where I’ll never dare go.

I stare up from the beach at the brier on the rim.
And search for the greatness to climb after him.
Somewhere in my soul like that rim o’er the beach,
Lies a rough latent courage, just out of my reach.