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.

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