Swing Empty, Swings in Breeze

An empty swing sways, lilting loneliness in the breeze, With no children in play, no laughter's squeal to please, Its rusty chain creaks a forlorn squeak for days gone by. Like lonesome clouds that linger longingly in the sky. The ropes are worn, the seat is torn, thread-bare. The swing swings a lonely dance, with no one there. It swings from the memory of when frolicking legs and arms. Would pull it skyward, to thrust aloft its charms. The wind blows dust tumbling through the ghost town, Abandoned by the curse of salt in the ground-waters, Caused by a wasteful irrigation scheme that shutdown. Leaving the town barren, devoid of sons or daughters. The willy-willy wisps of white crystal salt, Lifts from the dust in the playground's remains. Evoking ghostly images that twist and somersault Through the rusty links on the swing link chains. The empty swing swinging in the breeze, Is a prayer-wheel, squeaking a mournful mantra hum, That human greed drags nature down onto its knees, Knowing what you've done, can't be undone.