Tiger, tiger, burning dark,
In the playground of the park,
Flying high upon the swings,
Flitting from gymnasium rings,
Oh, can a mortal man like me,
Ever match your symmetry?
Or will I stand here at the railings,
Torn between the swings and palings,
Oh tiger, tiger, what’s the key,
To be like you, for one like me?
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved