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