The Swing
Once, years ago laughter filled eager ears.
Tiny hands gripped yellow rope as legs sway,
back and forth to rhythms of wind;
A swing was home for young children in search of flight.
Blue skies filled with life far above a reaching hand,
clouds were held as sacred to adorning eyes.
The simplicity of childhood memories now stretched into distant dreams.
The world was still as the mind traveled through space
where one could still bring down the stars in the palm of one’s hand;
and in terms of day and night, the lines blurred for
both were filled with dreaming.
But with age came the loss of dreaming, and the loss of time for a once loved passion.
In time we see that the swing was home to those
who wanted to fly.
(0)
Liked or faved by...
