Jack could fly, had he wings,
and would die, had he not the mind.
The clouds above were his limit,
and no further would he rise.

There were cities in the clouds
made for those who could reach,
and Jack's new springboard
could launch him a hundred feet.
He could arrive just in time
to claim his prize of pride
if he jumped now.

Jack's dreams mocked him,
but with his springboard unassembled,
he told himself "In due time."

Then the day came.

His palms were sweating,
his heart leapt,
he shook with the raw ambition
he was famous for
to join himself to that city.

He ran, and worked up a great speed,
hit the springboard,
flew upward and hit the ceiling
and fell to the carpet.

Finally seeing his springboard
for what it truly was-
worthless,
with broken breaths and watering eyes
and a seemingly indifferent disposition,
he placed the springboard in his closet,
and jumped back into the hole he had crawled out of,
months before.