His Gift

He left me this old wooden ladder...rickety...and patched... and on it, twisting in the breeze, he left this note attached: "When you were young you used this ladder to touch the sun to kiss the clouds creating the snowflakes that fell to Earth in June and do you remember how you use to smile when you'd climb this ladder…to the moon? When you soared with the birds high in the sky… do you remember all the wonders you could see as you rode a fire-breathing dragon… or had a conversation with a tree...' ‘Your imagination is a gift, ' the note went on to say Feed it, nurse it, nurture it, …‘cherish it everyday'. I still use that rickety old ladder And oh what wonders I still see When I ride that fire-breathing dragon or have my conversations with the trees...' When I climb way up to touch the sun when I kiss the clouds creating snowflakes that fall in June… and I imagine he is up there smiling… every time I climb my ladder to the moon.