A little place I like to go to clear my mind and find my soul.
The chains continued to sway
as the pair left the swings
in their residual motion
and attached to the poles
that anchored them to the earth
they stayed never minding the retreat
abandoned countless times before.
And through the night
their hinges whisper
secrets of the day
waiting there dutifully
dawn’s chorus starts to play.
The wind will move them once again.
The rain will rust then from within.
The cold will freeze them as if ice.
The night will see them still as mice.
The Spring will melt them in the thaw.
The sun will burn them after all.
And when it’s time to swing again
the pair will leave them in the wind.