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FLYING SWINGS
FLYING SWINGS*
Flying swings,
Built on the thrill of gravity’s gentle hand,
Lift us up, strange birds
Into the turning sky
Where joy sways with the breeze,
Childhood's dance suspended in the air.
Hands raised high,
We chase the cloud-choked horizons
Each swing weaving stories,
Where freedom tastes like cotton candy,
A dash of courage,
In every soaring arc.
For just a while,
The earth holds its breath,
And we are weightless, drifting
Lost in the echo of shouts and bells,
The world below a mere blur—
In the carnival's embrace
We learn to fly.
*This poem was featured and published on Writer Monk’s Facebook page in July 2025. This is my original poem.
Copyright ©
Sara Baker
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