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The old oak tree

A lonely old wooden swing 
Suspended in complete stillness
Gripped by ropes once white 
Now stained with memories of childhood
Frayed and worn
Two decades old
It hangs faithfully to the strong arms of the huge oak tree
Golden leaves hang off the dry deeply rippled branches
By the tiniest vein

Their yellow and brown comrades surround them
A gentle gust of wind sending them fluttering on their last flight
Through musky damp air down to wet ground below 
A dreaded smell of death for the non-deciduous trees
The lonely old wooden swing waits patiently and calm
Protected by its giant friend

Memories of swinging up into the air so high
Holding tightly onto thick white ropes 
My long blonde hair flowing behind
Laying back but holding on tight
Legs in, legs out
Eyes closed 
Swaying back and forth

It feels like flying
The air wafting over my happy face
Back and forth, back and forth
Standing up still swinging
On bended legs
Daring with no fear

Long blistering hot summers sitting cross legged 
Making daisy chains for my gran
Camps for the neighbours kids
With old sheets tied to the old oak tree
Telling ghost stories to each other

Plastic cups and saucers
Pretend tea and cakes
A British summer party 
Playing hide and seek within deep bushes
Our jungle to explore

Races on the lawn
The smell of freshly cut grass hanging in the air
My pretty red and white gingham dress
Stained with the debris, as were my hands
Nails as green as the Incredible Hulk
School holidays seemed to last forever

The lonely old wooden swing now sits dormant
Waiting patiently and calm
To be loved once more
Hear the laughter of children
And it will
Of that I am certain
As the wind blows the swing starts to move
Back and forth, back and forth 
Swaying slowly, a solitary soul
Demonstrating its approval
As I present my new born daughter
From her nursery window
To future adventures in her garden
The last leaf drops slowly to the earth
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