A crutch wedged in a thankful pit, <br />Close-gripped with a knurled fist <br />- Suspension bridge of pure grit - <br />Each reached plank, a pearled day. <br /> <br />Each early stride, a kept pledge <br />To un-scar an old, unkempt waddle, <br />Like forswearing the old booze bottle, <br />From near plank to far ledge. <br /> <br />Far below a thankless pride <br />Stokes dank and orange grudges, <br />Declining all crutches for gorges. <br />Thus it, with itself gorged, trudges. <br /> <br />The earthen lip of the far ledge beckons <br />To this wrecked boy. (Our days are few.) <br />“I'll use what I have, ” he reckons, <br />'Now and through my final seconds.” <br /> <br />[2-8-05 Santa Rosa, CA (revised 1-29-08 Livermore, CA) ]<br /><br />David Floren<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pride-eschews-crutches/
