It is a wooden board held aloft by a double cordage of rope.

The wind pushes the spirit of the girl who once was like an invisible hand.

Once it stood on rough, dry ground where the metal poles were moored,

But now a sea of sunflowers root it in place.

The breeze carries the faint sound of the girl’s laughter from long ago,

It can be heard between the silence and the sun.

The girl is gone now, too old for childish games,

But the swing waits in the company of the sunflowers hoping for her return.

– Diana Kristine