A tiny child, I stood one day

At the foot of the stairs

Of that steep stairway.

I clutched the stick of my blue balloon

And started to mount that steep steep stair,

When I stepped on my dress

And tumbled down that first steep step.

As I fell, my blue balloon

Went drifting up, and I stood in dismay

Watching my treasure slowly float

Up to the peak of that attic high

As tears rolled down my quivering face.


Today I stood at the foot of that stairs

Back at the farm where my grandpa lived

And I could feel the sense of despair

That gripped the child of three.

The peak of the attic did not look very high

And the steps had shrunk in pitch

But the recall of that moment was very real

And I know how a little child can feel.