The Rusted Swing Set

Empty laughter echoes, where children once did play,

The swing set creaks, a rusted monument to yesterday.

Chains hang limp, like forlorn, outstretched arms,

Yearning for the weight, of joy's forgotten charms.

Wooden planks, once painted with rainbow hues,

Now weathered and worn, the sun's playful embrace subdued.

A single red shoe, lost beneath the sand,

A solitary teardrop, in this forgotten land.

Will new voices ring out, fill the air with delight?

Can the swing set find purpose, bathed in morning's light?

Or will it stand forever, a silent, weathered frame,

A playground of lost laughter, whispered in the rain's soft name?

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