Sharing
Written in Marlton, New Jersey
God made me a free man,
what about you?
I'd say he meant you freedom too.
Green of trees,
sun's last burning strives,
peering through at your eyes,
blue birds make nest's amongst these trees,
the trees seem full, they find room still.
All the faces that sat by,
tranquil-ness beheld each eye,
blond haired children would drop by,
sit in doorways and quietly sigh.
Minstrel's tunes upon the day,
artists paint and poets say.
P. J. Campise
