Ladders Poem by David Taylor

He had been up ladders most of the day it seemed
firstly clearing blocked gutters silted from dust laden air
and with the many leaves once green and budding
that had now fallen in the autumn sky
all shrivelled, no longer full of life,
dead, decaying in his black plastic pipes.
And later in the day, some inside decorating
with white paint for browning, flaking ceilings
that no longer well reflected light
and cast a paleness throughout the house.

Taking a most well earned rest
he opened his favourite book
that stood the test of time
since first, inside he looked
and with each word stepped on a ladder
leading he knew not where
but definitely to a place brighter, still.
Full of freshness, new life renewed
and far above the guttered leaves
that in the autumn's eves had fell.