Betty's Swing

By Valerie D. Staton Down a long winding road there lived Old Betty Ann In an old wooden house, the color of sand Her home was surrounded by gardens and trees And wind chimes that sung with the stir of a breeze Most days Betty Ann could be found on her swing It was above her porch and asparagus green She’d kick off with a foot and then she would soar Each vacillation higher than the one before Betty Ann loved her metal swing so much Only by permission could it be touched Every year its color would be renewed In either white, green or cobalt blue She often sat on the old swing to knit When in a good mood she’d allow others to sit There was not much Betty Ann could not do In the cast iron swing that was built for two When Betty became ill and the end was near She gathered together all those she held dear "Before I go family, I ask one thing... For one last ride inside my swing." On the final day before Betty Ann died She was placed in the swing for her final ride And thus she transitioned doing what she loved most She took one last swing then gave up the ghost