#415 Our Ropes Poem by Jimmie Arrington

Dangling with courage and grit
High above a bottomless pit,
We grasp our ropes with all our might
And hope to last another night.

We slip a little more each day,
Like others who have slipped away.
We shift, we sway, we hang down low,
We descend fast, plummet we slow.

The end is fixed, certain, it's sure,
Our hands become old and mature.
We're weak, we're worn, we gave our all,
But after all, we all must fall.

In time we learn weren't falling, we were reeled,
And it's then our blistered hearts and hands become healed.