The Swing Poem by Harold R Hunt Sr
The Swing
The Swing
The old tree is at the top of the hill.
Has a old swing that hangs from its branch.
The swing doesn't see many children these days.
But every now and then you can hear them play.
The swing is mighty still on a claim day.
But if you look at the edge of night.
You might just see the swing movement.
As the wind blows the swing
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: trees
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4/24/2024 7:35:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
