Up a Tree

A poem about one of those foolish things boys do.

What was I thinking? I'm fearful of heights.
But boys aren't deep thinkers, and boys will climb trees.
The first fifteen feet were no trouble at all,
but that was the point where I started to freeze.

Now what, I thought. How do I get down?
I can't see below me. What will I do now?
I dared not remove either foot from the branch,
so I stood there and pondered the why and the how.

I figured I'd die if I stayed there too long,
so I weighed all the pros and the cons of my plight,
and decided that falling might hurt quite a bit,
but I might still be able to crawl home by night.