by Edward Alan Bartholomew 

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Through windows wide I watch your rubber blade

Wipe soapy suds from sides of shiny panes.

You can't see me; your eyes cannot invade.

Through glass so black: yourself and distant planes.

The cool, thin air that makes your platform sway

Can carry sounds from city streets below,

But all should know that I can only pray

That windy gusts shan't fall you with their blow.

You hover high by sides of tow'ring beasts

Whose massive steel can topple dizzy men.

By lengths of rope your height can't but increase

And makes the steady foot a man's best friend.

And at your home, as night divides the day,

You wish it were in blue skies that you lay.