Harry Haigh

(Queensbury, New York)

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Best Poem of Harry Haigh

The Hammock

Snared within its spidery web,
Back and forth we gently sway,
Your little head upon my arm
Oblivious of the passing day,
Resting in the hammock's fold
Because you're young... and I, too old.

If old were suddenly young again!
If time could only swing like this!
Rejuvenated, reversing course...
But all would end in chaos, not bliss.

Caught inside this pendulum ride,
You cradled snugly by my side,
I dare not move ... you soundly sleep.
My pillowed arm begins to ache,
But that's all right. Too soon you wake,
And soon I sleep ......

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