Seeing my niece on the swing


I see her swinging,
On a log of wood
Hung from the branches
Of a glorious, old, tree
And even as I smile
At the wonder that meets the eye
A sort of wistfulness
Fills my heart, my soul
Her nonchalance, steeped in fun
Reminds me of another time,
Another place,
Another girl, just like her
From ages ago, our younger selves,
When the one word we did not know
Was No
I can hear her smile
Taste the twinkle in her eye
I know the devil in her heart
The sprite that she is
Compelled
Impelled
By the magic of her soul
I see her,
In every sense of the word
Swinging,
On that log of wood,
And I wish-
I could be there too
In the sun
Beneath that glorious, old, tree
Where once upon a time,
I stood.

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