The Old Swing Tree

By Hilda Perkins

There's a cottonwood tree by the river

Whose branches reached both high and wide

Its memories still set hearts a quiver

Tho they're scattered, and many have died.

If the old swing tree by the river

Could tell all the stories it knows,

Of love, and of fears; of heartaches and tears,

Of happiness, sorrows and woes:

It could tell how its branches protected

The settlers who came there to pray,

And many a young maid was courted

In its swing, built for two in her day.

Its branches protected the people

Who settled the Valley with hope,

Where the river wound gracefully onward

And the red cliffs with past echoes spoke.

The river has taken the swing tree.

The memories of it linger on

With past generations of lovers

Who remember it clearly and strong.

Photo courtesy Images of America Early San Juan County, LaVerne Tate