With a twig like this
I'd build a tree, if I took the time
Time was, we'd burn these leaves,
before the faceless
banned sweet-smelling pollution.
Summers, the family and I'd ride
to Twelve Pole Creek,
and sometimes I'd dowse for water
with a twig like this,
and find it too, the creek right there and all.
In the summer I'd run barefoot
through Ritter Park,
with twigs like this
crackling underfoot.
©1983 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Last updated April 5, 2002.
Contact me:
ascott@pacifier.com