Swang
Listen to the cadence of the Elders
of freshly felled trees
Torn asunder, branchless
breaks for cover
The village playground
was deserted
No Moon yet
just a swing
swang by a ghost of a child
Evenings our dull forms appear
We thirst
for the white waters
sweet like our childhood
Copyright © Antony Glaser | Year Posted 2023
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