Less clear of the upper waters
More a bottom stirring brown
Around this bend in the woods amongst oaks garnished by moss
Where in the 1800's they say
A black man swung from this tree
And if you visit on the anniversary
You can hear him sing,
He sings, "long by the sins counting oh lord, I've seen your glory, about how men may be weak, men may be
Horrid, in times soon, dear Jesus,  
Alongside a stream, stirred up water around a corner, a man may see
Thy glory clear".
And it's rumored the song carries through the air like morning doves
On Easter, or doves Christmas morn.
Sitting here I hear, a squirrel in the swinging branches, scurrying left then right about his business clear,
No doubt there is a shadow to west cast dim, and from the high thick limb,
A ropes mark is left.
So man and tree are one now. And stream around the bend the water brown in remembrance, perchance, and the ground below always barren, the squirrels doing?
I guess.
In animosity mocking
Men's ignorance.