Hanging from a tree, I see an empty swing,
But below it there’s still a shadow of your being.
Your dark outline reflected onto the grass-
Hair blowing softly as the buzzing bees pass.
I look up but, again, see no one there
Just your lingering presence in the air.
Memories flood in when I look at the swing,
But now the memories are all I have still thriving.
You’ve grown and gone away.
And all I can see anymore is that old swing sway.
So empty, yet filled with the memory of you.
Now I wonder if those memories were really true.