At the top of the pole in your hand
Is the box with the bricks that are swaying
And your steps hammer hard on the land,
With the off-balanced load you're conveying.

And so you may sidestep and slip
Past the rocks and the crags and the flowers
But you need all your care not to trip,
As the joy of the enterprise sours.

You may wish to catch breath for a while,
Or to cool in the soft breezes flowing...
But momentum cares not for your trial,
And it's down, down and down you are going.