The Beauty of a Swing
The beauty of a swing lies in its fling
Rushing wind, hanging at the edge of care
Catapulted forth, like stone from a sling.
Let go of the chains and fly through the air,
Once a jump is made there is no retreat.
Look around thoughtfully first up then down,
Next appears the ground rushing up to meet,
Sometimes luscious green, often dirty brown,
Landing is tricky, but always thrilling,
Unscathed or bruised, you always rise again
To test again, the flight so fulfilling.
I speak for myself, I’ve seen no other men,
Content to swing, and never leave the seat,
Never seeing heights, accepting defeat.