Garden Swing
I love to sail on waves of sky
where breaths of clouds are rushing by,
where tall trees toss their leafy heads
way above the garden beds.
I love to swing with the birds at dawn
when sky cracks open and day is born,
when hems of fur on the robes of night
gently brush the morning light.
I ride on a swing. I swoop and fly.
I kick at falling leaves.
I call to a magpie as she dips by,
and feel the whoosh of the breeze.
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