The swing stands desolate
In the morning glade
Sunlight filters through
The shady trees
To soften
The coarse rope grip
And caress
The worn and weathered seat
Love-me-nots sit silently
'neath the swing
Sad reminders
Of happier times
Long since past

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Glacian, in the year 407 AF.