The Empty Swing

The Empty Swing

At the edge of an old green field,
Where children filled the air with cheer.
A lonely swing still moved each day,
Though no one had been there for years.

Its rusted chains would gently sigh,
Whenever evening kissed the ground.
As though remembering little feet,
That once had danced without a sound.

The oak tree watched with ancient eyes,
Its branches reaching to the sky.
It knew the stories time had buried,
Though it never asked them why.

Each autumn leaf that drifted down,
Would rest beneath that weathered seat.
Like tiny letters never read,
Left scattered at forgotten feet.

The robin perched upon the frame,
Still sang the song he’d always known.
Yet every note seemed touched with grief,
For he too felt the child had gone.

Neighbours passed without a glance,
Too busy with the race of life.
They never saw the silent tears,
That hid beneath the morning light.

One winter’s day a little girl,
Stopped quietly beside the swing.
She smiled as though she’d met a friend,
And heard an unseen voice still sing.

She gave the seat a gentle push,
Then whispered, “You can rest now, dear.”
The chains fell silent for the first time…
Not a single sound to hear.

The wind grew warm despite the cold,
The robin flew into the blue.
The swing stood perfectly at peace,
As if its waiting time was through.

Sometimes healing isn’t loud,
It doesn’t come with grand applause.
Sometimes all a heart is waiting for…

Is someone who remembers because.

If my words have touched your heart, and you’ve enjoyed my poetry, a small goodwill gesture would be deeply appreciated. Your kindness helps me continue doing what I love. Thank you for reading. 🌹