In my back yard between two trees,
Hung my children's swing,
I pushed them back and forth,
Higher, higher, they would sing.

Up, up amidst the clouds,
That is where I want to be,
Flying high among the birds,
Can you come along with me?

My Children grew up,
From the nest they flew,
The tree and swing remained,
And those memories I knew.

The swing is so precious,
It holds a sweet memory,
No child is seated in it,
It sways now silently.

A visit from my grandchildren,
Activities in my yard began,
They discovered the tree and swing,
And hurriedly to it they ran.

Again I was pushing,
With a smile across my face,
The yard is alive again,
The swing is a happy place.

Time went by, they too grew older,
Soon another life they found,
The swing grew brown with rust,
The seat fell to the ground.

The trees grew older and taller,
An umbrella of leaves outspread,
They were protecting the swing,
For they knew what was a head.

Great grandchildren will come along,
And discover the swing at rest,
They will be excited and determined,
They will be happy on a quest.

The swing can be fixed,
With a little attention,
They can replace some chain,
Add a few links just to strengthen.

A board for a seat,
A tire, oh yes, that will do.
It is so simple really
It will be just as good as new.

The swing is still outside,
The photo album is on the shelf,
Memories are made daily,
For history repeats itself.

Shirley J. Oremland©


Music: "Small World"

Sequenced By: Jack Hall
Used With Permission

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