If you hear the scoff of friends,
Or see their anger grow,
Just please remember this,
Perhaps they do not know.
DANCING ON A LEVEL ROAD
It is a happy thing to dance
A long a level road
So brave a deed to take a chance
Of slipping off the load.
IT WAS HOME
A little old house in a sheltered nook,
Some cottonwood trees near a babbling brook,
A sturdy gnarled oak by a grassy lane
That leads to green pastures past flowing grain.
A trellised rose bush hides a crumbling wall,
Where lovers have stood near the waterfall;
Beyond the sun sets in a golden glow
And shadows stretch far to the mead below.
A shining wire fence follows up the hill
And curves about to the graded fill.
Then back to the house in a cozy spot
We loiter there on the hallowed lot,
Where Mother's sweet face waits, in gentle calm,
And Father sits near and roads an old psalm.
QUESTIONS
If I could brush the cobwebs from my eyes,
What could I see?
If I could roll the boulder from my path,
What would I be?