I grew up in a heavily forested area and my favourite pastime was climbing trees. My sister and I used to climb skinny saplings until they would bend and finally snap, then we would ride the tree to the ground.Well, the one in the following poem refused to snap and this story was the final result.
"Hold on, hold on, little brother,
Hold on to the tree,
I think I'm slipping, falling fast,
I think I'm falling free."
We climbed the tree; it bent down low,
Until it touched the ground,
And though we tried to hang on tight,
No foothold could be found.
My sister started sliding off,
She looked to me for help,
And as I held the limbs in place,
I heard a little yelp.
She hit the ground; the tree snapped back,
Like out of a cartoon,
I swiftly flew into the air,
To come back down real soon.
But while I hung upon that limb,
My arms outstretched in pain,
I thought of how I must have looked,
And laughed like one insane.
I kicked and flailed, and tried my best,
To wrap my legs around,
The more I kicked, the more I tried,
I looked just like a clown.
And when I'd finally given up,
I cried, "Look out below!",
But what was waiting on the ground,
I really didn't know.
I crashed right through the underbrush,
And landed on a stump,
And everybody heard me yell,
"Oh, my poor aching rump!"
The lesson that I learned that day,
From science that is sound,
No matter what the object is,
What goes up, must come down.
If this article is used in any publication, please send a copy of the publication to David Pekrul at
170 Carr Cres.
Okotoks, AB
T1S 1E3
Canada
E-Mail:dpekrul@gmail.com
