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Writer's pictureshsimages

The Swing | Brendan Wang

We used to play on this playground and sway on the swing

We used to listen to the rocking of its chains and the flapping of its wings

There was just something about that swing to look forward to all year round

We enjoyed the dizzy, giddy rocking and most of all the sound

Of the crisp and crunch of the wood chips under our feet

The billowing of the cold winter wind against our pale cheeks

And the sensation of hot, cold raindrops signaling the coming of spring

Soon enough it was time for summer and a break from the swing

We’d come back for another year when it was suddenly fall

When the leaves glided down and built a bright, orange wall

We’d pile the leaves high enough so that the swing was levelled

And one by one we crashed into the heap only to be dishevelled

Days swung by and months swung by and we moved on

We said our goodbyes to the swing, the school, the elementary fun

Soon, years revolved around decades and the decades around scores

On the swing I sat, taking me to days of youth no longer more

The swing was now rusted and the seat had much wrinkles in store

If only life had a rewind button and maneuver us back through the childhood door

I stopped to feel the rough of the chains and the creases of the leather

So many had swung through their seasons and sat on this together

We used to play on this playground and sway on this swing

We used to listen to the rocking of its chains and the flapping of its wings


Swings by Brooke Abraham

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