For my son’s Guardian Angel
Make a rope swing, I thought, for my son:
Fill sunny days with pendular fun,
Thank God and all angels I tested the bough:
To see if rough usage its strength would allow.
For down the bough came, my shoulders were struck:
Although my blood flowed, I hold it great luck
That this Viking prow, all rotten and dead,
Struck knarled old me, and not my boy’s head.
So now I do thank whoe’re watched from above,
Protected my son with the grace of a dove:
Placed him well away, from gravity’s might,
Then gave to me caution, lifegiving foresight.
Copyright Tom Tide 2017