The Old Chair
Hanging from the old oak tree
on the old wooden swing I swayed
like a bird who is free no rules to obey
just a young child at play
Going so close to the ground rising up to the sky
soaring high in the air seeing everything nearby
on this old wooden chair
with plenty of time to spare
With each moving sway my long brown hair wraps around my neck
every now and then giving my nose a gentle slap
on this old wooden chair
the full feeling of the wind as it flows
Oh how I wish I could go back to those years
to just disappear for even only a moment
to the old wooden chair
and to be so young and unaware.
T Reams 3/25/2015
Copyright © Tammy Reams | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment