A Child on the Swing

Portrait #4 A Child on a Swing
As if time stopped, yet the pendulum still sways
so too the child swings over the lawn,
strewn with leaves and patches of green grass,
the marks of spring, the effects of winter.

And he giggles as his father pushes him up
but he falls the same way, showing no signs
the cold is getting to him, as slow as flowers grow
or as fast as the distant chiming clock.

The yard would be empty without him,
being fenced in at the back, but otherwise open,
letting the squirrels skitter across to take the acorns,
letting the only path home become overgrown.

The laughter, the chill, the motion,
the half shadow falling over them, mesmerizes.
The small swing rocks with the warm child,
while later it will only sway with the wind.

----

I wrote this poem tonight. I guess I've been feeling a little lonely today. But this morning, I was pushing my nephew Harry on the swing and I felt like time could stop. And then I thought - Hey, I could write a poem about this. So as the day went on I'd occasionally remember that I wanted to write this poem. And then I got home tonight after being at a very cold observatory and decided, NOW is the time. Yep that's the story there.