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 Hand Truck Icon |
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Irony to itself. All right, at the big optimism it is possible to believe thatSafely you will pass these one and a half metre. And further that? And further all the same
The class of risk - hardly is more, hardly it is less And then again... Both again... And still
Time again... I think of it. And then me starts to quilt the vile sweaty
How many them and from what number: from ten, from hundred?.
As they have made the way, through what manhole these have got to me into a head,
And never was - they are inevitable in such position. But after all I precisely know:
Anything similar was not on those hundreds the routes passed by me for far
Looking only upwards and thinking only that the curious waits for me there, highly
Over a head. Whether could be differently? And unless I was not has got tired of mountaineering,
If each lifting passes so painfully?!
Metres nevertheless leave downwards together with sincere forces, together with mine
In weight. Now over a head of foots twenty licked, stale walls. (Here
Consider on foots, and now it seems to me correct. To consider is even better
To the right. Is for what to be hooked by a hand, a quite good ledge for a foot. And further
The crack in which it is possible to jam a fist to use it as artificial Rallying-point and, having tightened, to leave on a shelf.
I have already started fingers in a rocky hollow, when in semimeter over myself
Front way. And it is much shorter and more reliable. I have thought: if this hook not
On it a carbine. However...
There was at first a vanity voice. It it to a descent, as the second end
Sticks on which have come. That vanity that most of all also moves soul The climber. It has rebelled, as has not had time to humour under the new
And while not clear to it of display of my mentality. Having forgotten about everything, I have decided
To pass a wall free it.
I have grasped for top it, have lifted a foot to step, on a ledge, But... Left nothing. IT has approached again on me. IT forces me
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