The Swingset by Rebecca L. Saylor
An old wooden swing set
Sways in the wind, sits beneath the pines.
Splintered wood, weak wood,
Creaks with every movement.
Two bright yellow swings,
A rope ladder hanging in shreds,
A dirty, scratched slide and monkey bars
All decorate its being,
More memories than a photo album could ever hold.
Pappaw built that swing set,
And little did he know
It would provide such consolation, such comfort,
An inanimate best friend.
That swing set was an Indian fort,
The slide a hospital bed,
The monkey bars were Mt. Everest,
The yellow swing was a prison cell of a beautiful princess from afar,
Just a resting place in the shade on a hot August day.
Pappaw built that swing set
Thinking it would be nothing more than
A plaything
A huge toy
That my brothers and I would soon outgrow.
But that swing set heard my deepest thoughts,
It knows my greatest fears.
It's seen every tear of grief spilled over every thing, big or small.
The swing set knows my loved ones all so well
From the dozens of times I sat beneath it,
Hoping and praying.
It knows the days
Marked with my deepest sorrows,
And surely it smiles upon the days that brought just a little more hope.
And that swing set isn't ever going to leave;
It's at home beneath the pines.
I could never go on without its creaking wood and squeaky swings.
For no matter how un-sturdy and unreliable it seems to you
It will always be my stronghold during the storm.
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