Memories Fading In
The swings, the trees, the blossom springs,
Incomplete without the childish bliss.
When disarrayed, when amiss,
The old dust begins to glint.
The swings, now old, a rusted shine,
used to be the merry time,
for when we cried and laughed our heart.
The swings would never see us part.
The trees we climbed, to reach the sky,
Are no more towers, just plain and fine
The memories on them, stay engraved,
Escaping the grasp of flowing age.
Generations go on without our part,
The swings and trees see a new start,
Another Set of playful minds,
To see some more painful goodbyes.
Now they drift like morning mist,
Moments lost ,yet not dismissed
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