backwards and upwards

we go to the edge to the point where the hill
falls away steeply where the bamboo stand
marks the lowest point of our own land
below we see the path continue but our will
does not move us onward we know that still
above us is enough that's right to hand
far more than we can handle and no bland
instruction will convince that we have skill
to do the things that we have learned to do
with all the deftness that we have been shown
our worth is constantly defined as naught
there is a hope that we might muddle through
providing that we hold fast to what's known
and do not spend our time in idle thought