My Swing

My Swing

Not a place better then where I find my
Self wander to in the still of the night,
The chill of the air, the familiar art,
The warmth of my swing which cradled my heart.

Here I wrote of stars in the sky,
Of ants on the ground and dragons that fly,
Here I lived a world unseen
As the rock of my swing succored me dreams.

I’ll never forget this sacred place
Where I first heard the ring in my ears,
So peaceful I couldn’t hear anything else
Other than it and the drip of my tears.

And when I’d get stuck on a verse or a rhyme
I’d nudge the ground and gently swing
It didn’t know that its sway was so truly kind
Because to me at that time it was everything.

-Jacob Winterfeldt