So Poor a Scaffold

I have no useful introduction to this poem.  It is what it is.

So Poor A Scaffold

The ladder rails are made of two-by-fours,
just discards I’d say by how warped they are,
bow and bandy-legged both, and the rungs,
only strips, two-by-ones or smaller yet,
pis-poor braces for such misshapen legs,
for any legs really, and you or I —
I’d prefer it be you to be honest —
will have to clamber them right to the roof,
all that way, put our trust — or should I say,
your trust — in those twisted and tortured legs
and those thin rungs and that unwise ascent,
and I can see that you are not at all amused,
and I don’t blame you, because this one life,
or this one world, or this one universe,
cannot be reached by so poor a scaffold.

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