Cannot tell you

How long I've been a swinger

I barely recall the little towhead

Soaring above Sopchoppy

Toes dangling over Flowing well

The chickens below in the yard

Scurry beneath Mr Rudd's barn

Thinking me a marshy hawk

As I swoop in low

Honey bees greet me

On their way to Georges hives

Bearing Tupelo pollen packs

Offering me a taste

But I must make haste

Up from Bradwell bay

The ole black bear stares

I dare not swing his way

He and panther want me

In the church house nest

The purple martins are circling

In a frenzy of mosquito catching

Proud of their fledglings

And on I swing determined

Making my way past Boam Bluff

Through Buckhorn to Panacea

To see the source of my landing 

The pure Mashes Sands

Swing, swing my little jumpy

The skies are full of wonder

There shall never be a better

Back yonder

And I land ever so gracefully.

John Clare Stokes