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12 Ladder I am a ladder. I am drawn up and down; laid lengthwise. Spot me leaning against a wall. Sketch me propped against a tree. All but the most fearful try to climb me sometime during their lives, and, being sturdy, I do not disappoint them. My steps are rungs; and a good ladder rings true, whether of wood or steel or aluminum. It is said that it is bad luck to walk under a ladder. But think of me, poor ladder! With me, one can achieve heights or plumb depths; cross chasms; pick apples, rescue cats, pluck folk from burning tenements; elope with the girl next door. One can shop the top shelf, locate a volume, study a beehive; storm fortresses; paint eaves; commence repairs. Put me together with a hook and a chassis , add a bell, and you have a red, red fire engine. So take the next step, or rung: buy me, carry me home, and watch me expand with happiness. 01.Poems.1-64_Fried.indd฀฀฀12 11/28/05฀฀฀12:33:18฀PM ...

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