A simple swing sits all alone.
It is old and rusty,
once shiny and new.
It remembers a time when
Its seat was neither empty nor full,
simply occupied.
A burst of energy to set it going,
A crowd of laughter to pump it higher.
So full of life,
that single swing.
Now it sways by itself,
so lonely and sad.
Powered by happiness no longer,
just touched by the wind.
Chains clinking to a stop,
Briefly it waits.
Its screws start to buckle
and the metal starts to creak.
With a sudden thud,
it breaks and
falls apart.
