My Swing
I love to sail in the wide blue skies
where the breaths of clouds go rushing by,
where the tall trees toss their leafy heads
way above the garden beds.
I love to sing with the birds at dawn
when the sky cracks open and Day is born,
when the velvet edge on the hem of Night
vanishes in the morning light.
I love to swing past the falling leaves
as they whirl around the autumn trees:
wind in my hair and wind in my face,
racing in a wild chase.
I have a swing to sail the skies
and dance with the Autumn leaves,
and I sing to the birds as they go by:
it’s my favourite place to be.
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