The Tree Swing
The child that e’er abides in me
Delights to see the swing
Beneath a branch, where I can soar
As if I grew a wing.
The man in me sees manicure,
The mowing of the green,
Which shows the value of the place,
The money of the scene.
As worshiper, I’m cognizant
Of He who made the tree;
And marvel once again at God,
At His grand panoply.
And then there is the poet part:
Man, worshiper, and child –
Who stands as all, sees ambience,
And is by Muse beguiled.
————————————-
(photo by Deb Finnell at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ngITU4u/Tire+Swing+on+Maple+Tree )
————————————-
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.