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
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