The Steeplejack

“This was a subject that again came out of an O.W.L. (Okanagan Writers League) meeting. I think the challenge was trying to pick a difficult topic – but everyone rose to the occasion and this was my effort. ”

The steeplejack in his lofty perch
Away up high on the spire of the church,
Surveys his realm so far and wide,
From tree-clad hills to ebbing tide,
And says: “I’m free!”

He watches cars go to and fro
And sees the people far below.
For company there’s birds and clouds,
And far above the dust and crowds
He says: “I’m free!”

The miner from the darkened hole,
Whose face is black from dusty coal,
Must envy him, high on the stack,
The smiling, laughing steeplejack
Who says: “I’m free!”

Down in the pit or up in the sky,
Each man must choose to laugh or cry.
Each man decides his destiny
To grovel or grow; but as for me,
“I’m free!”