Our Daughter's Swing

A branch once held our daughter’s swing

By blue supporting ropes,

The yellow molded plastic

Holding her and all our hopes.

 

We pushed her as she laughed out loud

And always wanted more,

So we complied, each happy swing

Just like the one before.

 

In time, she grew too big for it;

It hung there, never used.

The branch, from wind and rain and

All that weight was worn and bruised.

 

And then one day it simply snapped,

The swing found in the dirt,

Long past the time when any toddler

Might have gotten hurt.

 

The tree still stands, our daughter’s grown

And very few recall

The yellow swing that held that child,

Giggling in its thrall.