ROW, ROW, ROW......
I'm walking to the garden in Bradock park;
To my little garden plot on this very still
Saturday morning, very still and calm;
And wafting through the air a sound is teasing my ears.
I have always wondered that those words
Scan so well. The voice is light and sincere,
Maternal, it seeks my ears so very gently; I sense
A rhythmic movement in the playground at the top of the alley.
GENTLY DOWN THE STREAM...
So gentle she is, gentle as my own mother
Sweet and simple under a porcelain sky.
Down the stream of life I've flown, gently;
Being gentle has never been hard at all for me.
MERRILY, MERRILY, MERRILY, MERRILY....
But oh, my dear mother, the merrily part
That has so often been hard in this my life;
But I have pulled this heavy oar of mine
Happily, no matter how rocky and turbid the stream.
LIFE IS BUT A...........
On the August air the little response failed to carry;
Instead came the rident staccato chime of a child's laugh.