This little verse can be found in The Doug Skinner Dossier, available from Black Scat Books. Poor Milt!

MILT

Milt wandered down the dusty street,
And felt his life was incomplete.
He lifted up his troubled gaze
From all the city’s bustling ways,
Its squalid fights and sordid trysts,
And saw a mountain in the mists.
And as he gazed upon the peak,
His mouth went dry; his knees went weak.
He knew then that he couldn’t stop
Until he’d scaled it to the top.
So, he procured an ax and rope
And started up the rocky slope.
Although his footing often slipped,
And ledges crumbled where he gripped,
Although the climb was steep and hard,
At last, exhausted, sore, and scarred,
He stood upon the summit, then
Gazed down upon his fellow men.
A group of them had gathered there
Around the base to stand and stare,
To laugh at Milt, and call out jeers,
And ridicule all mountaineers.
Milt didn’t know they’d come to mock,
That he was now a laughingstock,
The butt of all the jokes in town.
He learned that when he went back down.