Swing low
In the course of my life in swings
My first memories go back to Sopchoppy
On Mrs Mary’s front porch beneath
the magnolia on Rose Street
Across the gravel road the flowing wells
constant gurgling
the drums from the Yellowjacket Marching band
Telling me mamma would soon be coming
for me
gathering up my matchboxes and Prince Albert
Tins
Toys for a boy from a pipe smoking Mr Emory
and I’d drift off
Waking beneath the oak in Williston
daddy out on the tractor in the field
mowing
and I’d rise and wait for his finishing
To come and sit beside me
In the swing with my tins.
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