March 22, 2008
By Megan Arnell, Chesterfield, MO

The worn wooden steps climb
And I climb upward with them.
My fingers grasp and lift
And my feet spring.

I do not know who built this ladder
Or why they failed to make a house to go with it
But that doesn’t make a difference.
To me, I own it.

I reach the top and I imagine
The singing of birds
The tingling of bells.
I lean back and feel the tree cradling me.

The tree is wise and has unbending strength.
With me it will whisper its secrets
And I will whisper mine.

In my tree I see my hopes
My dreams.
They sparkle like gems
Twinkling alluringly in the
Golden sunshine.

I have found a treasure.

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