Can't build a carousel

But I can build a swing ...

SWING

The tree may now stand silently at peace,
marking years in growth of strangling vine
and mem'ries of children's lost laughter,
pulsed with glee and fear upon the swing.

Sweep forward with reach of toes and yearning
to tickle pillowed clouds or winking star;
then back -- back with tight curled legs
in quick cycled loss of a youthful dream.

Aye, I found a limb at Sakin'el
that once had clutched long tether ropes
to anchor a young soul to Mother Earth,
yet still allow the spirit to fly.

I could build another, I suppose;
a wee bit sturdier perhaps
to allow for -- well -- age and all,
and weary feet closer to the ground.

Then again, I could share this past thrill
in many tales of the child within,
for memory needs no second chance
to create and nurture everbe.

The ever silent breeze will whisper
of the swing from 'till to yesteryear,
whenever I laugh in innocence,
and reach beyond my limits and fears.