Our Daughter's Swing

A branch once held our daughter’s swing By blue supporting ropes, The yellow molded plastic Holding her and all our hopes. We pushed her as she laughed out loud And always wanted more, So we complied, each happy swing Just like the one before. In time, she grew too big for it; It hung there, never used. The branch, from wind and rain and All that weight was worn and bruised. And then one day it simply snapped, The swing found in the dirt, Long past the time when any toddler Might have gotten hurt. The tree still stands, our daughter’s grown And very few recall The yellow swing that held that child, Giggling in its thrall.