The world was larger
And when you’re young and growing
And the world is nothing more than your own backyard,
Your father—
Gruff, but loving—
Is a man of fields and farms and dirt—
Or soil (as he would say)
And then the world grew
And distance began to divide
But now,
As we live and long,
We grow closer
We grow closer
He travels
He travels and he knows the world,
Learning whatever the world teaches him
And in traveling,
He would say,
“All are dependent on fields of green.”
Fields of green
I like that
The backyard,
The field,
The farm,
The dirt
My world is larger still
Jeff Gangwer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-travels/
