Children’s empty playground
Swings, roundabouts
Shiny metal slide to hot to slide down
Do I dare go inside?
Swing awhile, remembering
Old summer days when we had
all the time in the world before us
My long-lost school friends
Are they there beside me?
Do I see the empty swing moving?
Or is it my own vibration
that moves, ghosts remembered…
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Lovely poem, Anita. I always wonder what the old friends are doing. Too bad we lost touch.
Thank you for this, John… We really should keep in touch with our friends…
Yeah, but it doesn’t happen.
Not sure why, for we always regret it…
*shrug
Beautiful, Anita. Places of our childhoods will do that to us.
I loved that, Anita. It ignited dusty memories…(evocative photo!) x
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