Beautiful, vibrant flowers of May,

filled the landscape as far as I could see;

but late in the afternoon one day,

I find her swinging sweetly from a tree.

Her delicate frame held by wood and by string,

as her mind wandered far beyond the fields ahead.

Graceful and young, the essence of spring.

Peaceful, undisturbed, not a word to be said.

A beautiful birdsong erupts around us,

marking the day done. Signalling the night

to draw in, the very beginnings of dusk.

It’s then he calls her, a voice out of sight...

I know I must go, though I wish I could stay.

In the sunset I see her for the last time,

she smiles and laughs, turns my way,

I finally see it, she’s me when I was nine.