The Swing
Be it of a rope, bamboo or gold
The tale of ecstasy isn't old.
By the breeze
Swirls up and comes down again.
In every rise a new adventure, a new mettle
Reaches the zenith and touches the ground
Yet efforts to ascend the higher invisible steps
And join the infinite
Ceaseless peregrination of man continues
For in every man
A higher psyche to meet 'the Oversoul'
Attain sublimity, serenity, summum bonum
And never look down again.
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