Twisting and turning over and under -- More mysterious than lightening and thunder -- I crawl through a tunnel of orange shining light, Up to a crow's nest of far seeing sight; My friends scramble up eagerly behind And we see shadowy figures of a strange kind In the far, distant dark green wood Approaching fast our neighborhood. We let out a raucous hoot And turn down a windy route Across bridge and over net To our fort's deck and parapet. I wrestle control for the best seeing place And focus in on one mysterious face -- Is it good or bad, ugly or sweet? When they arrive what will I meet? We scramble down the slick spiral slide To the next lower level towards the far side Into a plastic room of bubble portals And up a ladder amid our chortles To an upper room of carved gargoyles -- Split tongues, pointed ears, and full of boils -- Through that haunt we scampered up stairs Into a maze of translucent geodesic squares; Up and up, through and through we wound Into the open air exposed without a single bound, And there not far away in the next room We faced the strange faces of our doom. A great abyss stood between here and there, Only a tightrope bridged the spacious air; Never and no way could we meet those Who were our adventure's incognitos If we would not tread that narrow tightrope And chance the fall with ne'er a hold to grope. I could climb and wind back to the ground Onto sure terra firma, the rope confound. But I know that because I walked there Across safely and certainly and did not dare, When I climb into that far away room I would find naught but dull and stale doom.
©1991, John A. Mills