The Swamp

There is an old bog,

where I used to walk bye,

on warm sunny days,

with a baby blue sky.

The red winged black birds

were singing, the frogs

were crooking everywhere.

In that old swamp or bog,

there are many floating logs,

on which the birds perch,

while on the shore,

the beaver cut birch.

As I walked, I talked,

thanking God for such,

such a beautiful day.

wint'swords