The visitor gasped; astounded he couldn't believe that I hadn't visited the aerial tramway which is only miles away. “And you live here!” He exclaimed.
Though I've not been atop the tram its true,
I’ve seen the night sky rich and darkest blue,
I've seen the citrine moon, (like a balloon),
Resting on the desert sands somewhere,
Between fingertip and edge of the horizon.
While out away from city street,
I’ve seen a ram, heard its’ bleat,
Seen a moose—six point rack;
Stood waist deep in the
Not a care upon my back.
Transients pushing their baskets,
Skin brown-red from years in the Sun,
They walk down street, through parks they troop,
I’ve seen many from the seat in my air-conditioned coupe.
And I’ve seen a boy, his little head without hair,
A face covered with mask to keep out any bad air;
Leukemia---cancer; blood, bone and brain,
I’ve seen it take both the young and the aged.
A woman with her children, her home cinder block and dirt,
A life without hope or means for food and shirts;
Behold brilliant bold colors, variegated texture, the fabric woven woof, warp and square,
A Missionary family from here and local body in Christ; living proof, hope and care.
Though I’ve not been on the twirling tram,
I have to think through all I’ve seen,
Through human stuff and natures’ splendor,
That there’s some kind of human ‘dark’,And some kind of majestic creator.