The Villagers of Stiltsville

I came across this poem while reading Fearless by Max Lucado

Perhaps you don't know,

then, maybe you do,

about Stiltsville, the village,

(so strange but so true)

where people like we,

some tiny, some tall,

with jobs and kids

and clocks on the wall

keep an eye on the time.

For each evening at six,

they meet in the square

for the purpose of sticks,

tall stilts upon which

Stiltsvillians can strut

and be lifted above

those down the rut:

the less and the least,

the Tribe of Too smalls,

the not cools and have-nots

who want to be tall

but can't, because

in the giving of sticks,

their name was not called.

They didn't get picked.

Yet still they come

when the villagers gather;

they press to the front

to see if they matter

to the clique of the cool,

the court of high clout,

that decides who is special,

and declares with a shout,

"You're classy!" "You're pretty!"

"You're clever" or "funny!"

And bequeath a prize,

not of medals or money,

not a freshly baked pie

or a house someone built,

but the oddest of gifts--

a gift of some stilts.

Moving up is their mission,

going higher in aim.

"Elevate your position"

is the name of their game.

The higher-ups of stilsville

(you know if you're there)

make big to-do

of the sweetness of thin air.

They relish the chance

on their high apparatus

to strut on their stilts,

the ultimate status.

For isn't life best

when you view from the top?

Unless you stumble

and suddenly are not

so sure of your footing.

You tilt and then sway.

"look out bel-o-o-o-w!"

and you fall straightaway

into the Too Smalls,

hoi polloi of earth.

You land on your pride--

oh boy, how it hurts

when the chic police,

in the jilt of all jilts,

don't offer to help

but instead take your stilts.

"Who made you kind?"

you start to complain

but then you notice the hour

and forget your refrain.

It's almost six!

No time for chatter.

It's back to the crowd

to see if you matter.

Stiltsvillians still cluster,

and crowds still clamor,

but more stay away.

They seem less enamored

since the Carpenter came

and refused to be stilted.

He chose low over high,

left the system tip-tilted.

"You matter already,"

he explained to the town.

"Trust me on this one.

Keep your feet on the ground."