The swing swings devoid of spirit
while strolling sad and quiet near it.
Dusty groan of a merry-go-round
objecting to being pushed around,
and teeter-totters tilt no more without you.
As a lithe light carefully filters through
and the shadows are familiar gray
as trees whisper, but don’t quite say
what they mean when lost leaves fall
cluttering the grass just a bit too tall
walking in remembrance of time long ago
when we blissfully didn’t quite know
how tired such a thing could become
without the blessing of youthful fun.