The Swing
Just one more push in the swing
under the walnut tree. Who would like, who would like to? Just one more push for me. Grams and I exchanged a look. Grandpa and brother, too. Then each of us looked away. We had too much to do. Chicken to finish. A stick to whittle. Bones for the raccoons. Oh yes, too much, way too much, for each of us to do. Off she went to swing alone, a push never to be. To swing alone, in the swing, under the walnut tree. DR, August 2017 |