Swing

All the treasures in childhood
like sparklers on Fourth of July

sparking memories of campfires and
bullet pops to pass the summers by

Tucked in by Hans Christian Andersen
sweet dreams in a yellow canopy bed

Flying with Peter Pan and pixie dust;
cartwheels, back flips, standing on our heads

Boat races in the pebbled park stream
baseball games and matchbox cars

filled our days with other lands of pretend
until the sky was filled with stars

Snapshots of our nostalgic youth
flown quickly by on a butterfly wing

None of them quite as special as you and me
smiling and swaying on the old oak’s tire swing

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