Cedar tree growing tall,
I remember when you were small.
I climbed on your branches but didn’t fall.
Some rope and wood should make something good.
It should.
When swinging from your branches,
I feel like I have wings.
When I tell you my secrets,
you never say a thing.
The Christmas tree orbs they swing, they swing, they swing.
And they look like the sun,
brightening up everything.
St. George’s, Bermuda
