Dear Swing,

Everyday after school

you are there waiting for me,

patiently awaiting for my push

to take off and soar in the sky.

Such fun we always have

when I fly high,

my feet off of the ground

and my hair whipping around my face.

But not today.

The heavy rain has soaked your smooth surface.

For now I can not venture outside

to swing high,

embraced by your metal hug.


A Little Six Year Old Girl...