A Swing
There is a swing hanging on a dead tree
Every evening, a girl sits and plays
Back and forth – from a rear window I see
The swing takes her one step closer to the sky
And brings her back to the ground in glee
The grass under her feet is verdant
Her shadow always late, pursuing in vain
The lace of her hair – her will adamant
The shadow is a guide albeit a little eager
Like Virgil searching for his Dante,
Why had time so swift flow?
Night is near and the tree like I recall
Green and abundant – covers eve’s glow
The girl swinging higher and higher to the sky
Until she is called to sit under my window.
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